Cause & Effect
by Lawson227
Summary: A statewide flu epidemic has the SBPD extremely short-staffed and leaves Carlton with an unlikely new partner. Non-canon, obviously, but let's assume it's taking place post-SANTABARBARATOWN, so spoilers will apply accordingly. T rating, may possibly become M because that's just how I roll.
1. Chapter 1

Yeah, another Karen/Carlton—even though there only seem to be about six of us who actually like this pairing, it's the one I'm currently most interested in. The usual disclaimers apply—no ownership in anything **psych, **TPTB have everything, I have nothing except ideas for the unlikeliest of pairings.

* * *

_**Chapter 1**_

A weary Carlton poured his sixth—seventh, maybe—cup of coffee, wishing he could run out to Starbucks and bring back, oh, an entire vat of espresso. But same reason he was on cup seven—or was it eight?—and it wasn't even one in the afternoon was the same reason he couldn't make a Starbucks run: the flu that had decimated not just the detective squad, but the force as a whole. They were so damned short-staffed, everyone was pulling double shifts, detectives were going out to scenes solo, and support staff was being pressed into unaccustomed roles, even the janitor, who'd been given a crash course in answering phones by a feverish and hoarse Sergeant Allen, huddled in her chair with a blanket wrapped around herself and a mug of tea welded to her hand. When Carlton had complained about the god-awful smell and what the hell sort of swill was she drinking over there, she'd snapped that the "swill" was medicinal and the only thing keeping her upright.

Carlton had let it drop—in part because the hand _not_ clutching the mug of swill rested on her weapon like she thought he was going to try to take her swill—er, tea— from her. Really, though, he'd let it go and backed away to the safety of his desk because he was just too damned tired and his head, eyes, and every blasted muscle in his body ached too much to care.

"Detective—"

He glanced up from stirring extra sugar into his coffee to find an exhausted-looking Karen Vick beside him, pouring coffee into an oversized mug. She'd been pulling as much extra time as anyone else, juggling schedules and assignments so the most critical posts were covered and if Allen had a mug of tea welded to her hand, then Chief Vick had been existing for the past two weeks with a phone welded to her ear as she scoured neighboring law enforcement agencies, trying to beg, borrow, or steal any available bodies.

"Any luck?" he asked.

"Nope." She took the two sugar packets he offered and waited, eyebrow raised, until he added another two. Not like he could point fingers or anything. "This damned flu's doing a number on Ventura, San Luis Obispo, and Kern counties, so they're as short-staffed as we are."

"What about L.A. or Orange?" He held the creamer over the mug, pouring until she nodded.

"No luck there, either. They've got some loaners out, but they've been hit hard, too."

"Jesus. What about—" he started, but stopped short at her upraised hand and the weary shake of her head.

"The whole state is slammed, Carlton. We're officially at epidemic levels with this outbreak. CDC thinks it's not just one strain, but possibly as many as three and none of them the ones they advised people be vaccinated for."

"Damn vaccine doesn't work worth crap anyway," he groused as he downed half of the mug's contents in one swallow

"But you did get it, right?"

He glanced up from pouring more coffee and met her gaze. Even rimmed in an angry red and with gray-blue circles smudging the skin beneath them, her brown eyes were sharp, direct, and undeniably concerned.

"I did." He accepted the sugar she handed him, smiling faintly at the four packets. "You?"

"Yeah." Like he had for her, she poured cream into his mug. "Even though having a six-year-old is a better vaccine than anything the CDC can come up with. I swear, elementary schools are little more than germ incubators—Iris brings everything home then after I nurse her through it, I get to fight it off. My immune system is definitely battle-tested."

"Understood."

"At any rate, I've got a conference call this afternoon with other police chiefs and a state government representative—I think they're going to want to impose statewide curfews."

He snorted. "You really think that'll help?"

"Can't hurt." She lifted an eyebrow. "Honestly, what I'm really hoping for is an announcement stating they'll be marshaling the National Guard to assist with patrols."

"Great," he groused. "Then they can come in, take over our facilities, and tell us how we're doing our jobs wrong."

"It would be warm bodies, Carlton," she chided mildly. "At this point, I'd take the park rangers."

He felt a pang of guilt at the utter exhaustion evident in her soft response. "Point made."

Side-by-side, they leaned tiredly against the wall and sipped the hot brew as they surveyed the eerily quiet bullpen. Eerie because there were people there, but rather than noisy with the typical early afternoon hum and bustle, the people who were there were shuffling quietly, almost zombie-like, as if doing their best to conserve what little energy they had.

With another tired smile indicating no hard feelings, she asked, "How's O'Hara?"

"Running a hundred-two fever and ready to kill Spencer."

"Dear God, don't tell me he's trying to nurse her back to health?"

"No." Carlton felt a flash of annoyance. "More like parked on her couch, whining that he's at death's door because he's running a ninety-nine point four and he's run out of grape popsicles."

Vick's eyes widened so far, a full ring of slightly bloodshot white was visible around the dark brown. "Is he insane?"

"That's a rhetorical question, right?"

She managed a weak smile, but nothing more, not even a decent eye-roll—sure sign of how deep her exhaustion ran. He wondered just how much rest she'd gotten in the last seventy-two hours. It couldn't have been much, recalling the untouched pillow and blanket he'd spotted on her sofa. Not good. They needed her too much.

On the verge of suggesting maybe she avail herself of said sofa or maybe even run home for a few hours—that he could hold down the fort—he was forestalled by Manuel, their janitor-cum-phone clerk, scurrying up to their post.

"_Señorita_ Chief, a call just came in and Sergeant Allen, she said I should give it right to you."

"Oh God, what now?" Vick groaned as she took the slip of paper with the pertinent information scrawled on it in Allen's favored purple ink.

"It's bad," the older man replied, a worried expression drawing his brows together.

Instantly alert, Carlton glanced over Karen's shoulder, mentally noting the breach in protocol and basic manners, but also knowing they didn't have time for the typical niceties. If it was indeed as bad as Manuel seemed to think it was, then it was likely he'd be going out on the call.

"Goddammit," he muttered as he skimmed the details. Three bodies discovered in Los Padres National Forest. He drained the contents of his mug in one long swallow as he strode to his desk, snatching his suit jacket off the coat rack. Shoving his arms through the sleeves, he retraced his steps, surprised to find Karen emerging from her office, head down as she clipped her badge and holster to her belt.

"Chief, what the hell?"

She glanced up, her gaze narrow and intent. "It's a triple, Carlton—you're going to need extra hands."

"I can grab a uniform," he protested, the hair on the back of his neck prickling.

"We're already going to have what few uniforms available on site already. You need another detective with you—" He felt skewered by her challenging gaze. "Last time I checked, I still had the cred."

Heat rose from his unbuttoned collar. "That's not what I meant, Karen," he protested, albeit quietly. "It _is_ a triple and who knows what we'll uncover."

"Would you say the same to O'Hara?" she shot back, fists on her hips.

"O'Hara's not the Chief of Police," he snapped. More softly he added, "Nor is she a parent."

"I'm a cop, Carlton," she said steadily, with a hint of frost overlaying her words. "And as you pointed out, I'm the Chief which means I make this call. Your objections are duly noted."

"They're _not_ objections," he countered, resigned to his new, unexpected partner.

A telling eyebrow rose. "Could've fooled me. Now—" She straightened her shoulders and looked him the eye and if he didn't know better, he'd swear that behind the exhaustion and obvious exasperation, there was a glint of humor lurking in dark brown depths.

"Who's driving?"


	2. Chapter 2

The usual disclaimers apply—no ownership in anything **psych, **TPTB have everything, I have nothing except ideas for the unlikeliest of pairings.

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_**Chapter 2**_

"How's Iris?"

Karen looked up from rummaging through the bags of food, near-drooling. It was a long drive out to Los Padres and she'd put her foot down, insisting they take five minutes and drive through _somewhere_ and get something substantial to eat. Especially since she'd lay money that like her, he likely hadn't eaten anything all day. Partially unwrapping one of the burritos, she handed it to Carlton then opened a napkin and dropped it over his leg. At his startled look, she laughed.

"Sorry—force of habit. If I didn't open a napkin for Iris, she'd end up wearing most of her meals." She unwrapped straws and stuck them through the drink lids. "As for your question, do you mean generally or in terms of the flu?"

Never shifting his gaze from the road, he lifted a shoulder. "Either—both." He took a bite, briefly closing his eyes at the first taste of hot rice and savory grilled chicken, making Karen smile. Sometimes, it paid to exert authority. Tearing open a second bag, she revealed two orders of sweet potato fries that she placed between them along with extra napkins.

"Maybe next meal, we can even do something radical and have something that requires utensils."

One eyebrow rose as he swallowed. "Let's not go crazy, now," he replied, his typical dryness clearly reestablishing itself and prompting another smile from Karen. Several quick bites later he added, "Besides, right now, this tastes like freakin' five-star cuisine."

"You need to eat, Carlton," she chided, unwrapping her own burrito. Under normal circumstances, she probably would have opted for the salad, but who knew when she'd next have a chance to eat? Better to err on the side of substance rather than healthy alternative. "Especially now. I honestly cannot afford to lose you."

"Pot, kettle," he muttered as he transferred the half-eaten burrito to the hand on the steering wheel and reached for his drink with the other. Thankfully, though, he left it at that. Well, not completely, as he punctuated the muttered aside with another one of those raised eyebrow glances. Time to steer the conversation back on course. Or at least, away from what could potentially follow that glance.

"Iris is good—both in general and luckily, with respect to the flu." Karen didn't miss the deep breath he released at her statement. Applying herself to her burrito, she took a generous bite, nearly moaning as spicy chicken, rice, and guacamole hit her taste buds. They ate silently for several minutes—it wasn't until after she'd tossed the wrappers into one of the bags and pulled out the churros, still warm and cinnamon fragrant, that she spoke again.

"As soon as they announced the school closures due to the flu, I got her out of town."

He nodded as he reached out and selected one of the churros from the bag she held between them, but said nothing, as if he suspected there was more.

"Since my ex can work remotely, we agreed it would be best for him to take her to visit his parents in Illinois."

"Must've been a hard decision."

"Yeah." She sighed, feeling the familiar burning deep in her chest along with the too-familiar pang of fear. "But it's for the best."

At her soft admission, he spared her a sidelong glance and a reassuring smile before returning his attention to the road. Karen wondered if he was even aware of how much he'd just revealed. In the momentary flash of deep blue, she clearly read not only understanding but sympathy as well. It wasn't anything they ever talked about—at least not verbally—that deep protective streak he had where Iris was concerned and by extension, her. She hadn't even been aware of it herself until Iris' first birthday when she'd discovered the gifts in her office, resting on the seat of her chair, out of sight of casual passers by. The stuffed Irish dancer doll clearly meant for Iris and in a smaller box, a lovely, delicate rose gold St. Michael's shield with "_St. Michael, Protect Us_," inscribed on the back. Even without the _KDV_ etched beneath the prayer, she would have known it was meant for her. St. Michael—patron saint of policemen.

It was the presence of that medallion that had cemented the gifts' provenance. While the doll easily could have come from any one of her staff, there was only one person would have thought to give her a medallion with such personal significance on _that_ particular day.

And every August 25th since, there'd been a gift waiting—something appropriate for whatever age Iris happened to be turning that _wasn't_ a steering wheel club. Thank God that appeared to have been nothing more than a temporary aberration prompted by that damned nanny case.

Karen made a point of never acknowledging the gifts—at least, not directly. Carlton would have been mortified, for one thing not to mention, she knew damned well if he _wanted_ acknowledgment, he would have signed the gifts or given them to her face-to-face. She knew, too, had he done so, he would have assumed she thought he was simply trying to suck up.

No, acknowledgment or currying favor wasn't at all what he was after. So, with that knowledge foremost, she responded in the only way she knew he would accept. Come every February 22nd, she'd leave a gift in his desk. Not on it, so as not to invite the sorts of questions she knew he'd bristle at answering, but hidden in one of the drawers where he'd be sure to find it and could leave it secreted away until he had a private moment in which to open it.

It had almost come to be something of a game between them—her discovering Iris' gift, the anticipation of waiting for him to discover _his_ gift. Knowing the exact moment it happened because she could feel his gaze searching her out and briefly resting on her.

He didn't say anything, either. Then again, he didn't need to. The medallion she wore on a long chain, invisible beneath her shirts and dresses, but always there, said it all.

As the drive wore on, she felt herself, despite the case awaiting them, relaxing. Carlton was a confident driver, even once they hit the curving roads winding through the mountains, so there were no sudden changes of speed or hesitations jerking her from the surprising serenity of the drive. With the cool, shadowy green of the forest streaming past the windows and the steady hum of tires on asphalt serving as white noise, her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, even though she tried like hell to fight it. He'd think for sure she no longer had what it took to work as a detective if the first thing she did was pass out in the car.

"Relax, Karen—get a little sleep if you can. We have a long way to go, still."

"I'm fine." Blinking and rubbing her eyes, she pushed herself away from the door. Reaching for her cup, she sucked down a long drink of still-cold caffeinated heaven. Although she wasn't sure there was enough caffeine in the world, right now.

"No, what you are, is stubborn."

"Pot, kettle," she mumbled around the straw, taking more than a little juvenile satisfaction at tossing his words back at him. Rather than respond with a typically sarcastic Lassiter rejoinder or even one of his patented narrow-eyed glares, however, he simply spared her another one of those calm blue glances.

"When was the last time you slept?"

She shrugged, not wanting to admit all she'd done was doze upright in her desk chair, since she'd taken a turn at answering the phones overnight when their swing shift officer called in, what else? Sick.

"If you're going to do this, Karen, you need to be sharp."

"The adrenaline will kick in."

"Adrenaline can only do so much and you damn well know it."

"When was the last time _you_ slept?" Because redirect was always the better response, right?

Right.

"Caught a few hours last night," he replied smoothly.

"Was that before or after you went out on patrol with McNab?"

Bingo.

She watched as a faint wash of red crept up from his open collar.

"I had him pick me up at home," he muttered, his long fingers loosening and tightening rhythmically around the steering wheel. "He probably blabbed, didn't he? Felt like he had to get permission or something ridiculous like that?"

"He did no such thing." Shifting in the seat, Karen crossed her arms and hit him with a stare she knew he could feel, judging by the way the red deepened. He probably hated that fair Irish skin with the heat of a thousand suns. Couldn't hide a thing. Less so than his eyes, however, but she wasn't sure he was aware of that fact and she wasn't about to clue him in on it, lest he work to eradicate it. "Buzz McNab worships you, Carlton, and well do you know it."

"Then how'd you—"

"I have sources." Never mind that that source happened to be _her_—outside the station late last night, taking a brief fifteen minute break. Leaning in the shadows of the stucco building, she'd noticed Buzz's cruiser slowly driving past, a familiar dark head riding shotgun.

And people had the nerve to ask _why_ he was still her Head Detective.

"It freed up another uniform to take a different patrol," he admitted, then added, "And it's not like I need much sleep anyhow."

"So damned stubborn," she sighed, but there wasn't any real heat behind it. He was a cop's cop and she respected that more than anything. Which was why she could not fall asleep, dammit.

A few more winding miles passed while Karen fought to stay awake. It helped that she could practically feel Carlton's exasperation—sort of like a little pin prick that jolted her awake every time she began drifting off. But oh, the drive was soothing and shadowed and cool and the seats of the Crown Vic surprisingly comfortable and…

"Look, I'll make you a deal."

"Hm… what?" Once again she shoved away from the door where she'd inexplicably wound up because she could have _sworn_ she was sitting upright just seconds earlier. She had been, right?

"Let yourself catch a catnap now and on the way back, you can drive and I'll sleep." Since they were on a relatively straight stretch of road, he turned his head slightly, enough to meet her gaze and offer up a half-smile. The smile faded as he said, "I don't know, Karen—I have a bad feeling about this case. Three bodies, way out here?"

"Yeah, me too," she admitted. With the few sketchy details they had, it could be anything, but like he said—three bodies? Way out here? Couldn't possibly spell anything good.

"I need you sharp. And I'll need to be sharp myself once we get back to the station. So, please?"

His fingers brushed her shoulder as he reached over the back of the seat and returned with his suit jacket. He'd tossed it back there along with his tie, preferring to be comfortable for the long drive. Now, he dropped it in her lap, keeping his gaze resolutely focused on the road.

"Don't let stubbornness keep you from doing the smart thing. That's not the Chief I know."

Damn him, he was good—knowing how to hit right where she lived. And she knew damn well the odds he'd sleep on the way back—especially if the case turned out to be as bad they both suspected—weren't high. But she'd cross that bridge when she came to it. She'd get him to sleep if it required putting him in a chokehold until he passed out.

"So damned bossy," she muttered as she shook the satin-lined wool open and draped it over herself.

"Learned from a master."

And was he _laughing_?

Forget chokehold. She'd was pretty certain there had to be a baton in the Vic somewhere. She could just brain him into unconsciousness.

Intractable, mule-headed, Irish… _man_.

"You _will_ sleep on the way back, Carlton," she muttered. "That's an order."

Already drifting off, warm wool and a light scent like the ocean wrapped around her, she barely heard his dry, "Whatever you say, Chief."

And she _knew_ it had to be a product of sleep deprivation that she imagined a gentle touch on her shoulder, tucking the jacket more securely around her, followed by an even softer, "Anything for you… Karen."


	3. Chapter 3

The usual disclaimers apply—no ownership in anything **psych, **TPTB have everything, I have nothing except ideas for the unlikeliest of pairings and romantic schmoop that would have no place on the actual show. Which is why we have fanfic.

* * *

_**Chapter 3**_

_You're an idiot._

Right. Like that was supposed to come as any big surprise.

_A Class-A, head shoved up your ass, gibbering moron._

Again, not anything that came as earth-shattering news.

_Seriously, do you have any idea—_

"How much further is it?" Carlton asked the ranger who'd met them at the trailhead. Not that he really wanted to be talking and he had a pretty good sense of how much further it was, but hell, actual physical conversation with a real body might serve to drown out those damned accusatory voices. They'd still be there—an annoying hum in the background like a swarm of killer bees—but if he was actively engaged in conversation, he wouldn't have to listen to them.

Herb, the ranger, a taciturn, salt-of-the-earth, older guy, dragged out of retirement because of, what else—the flu—glanced over his shoulder, showing obvious surprise at finding the "city cops" easily keeping pace. Not as if it was difficult—the trail was clear and well marked and Carlton kept hiking boots stowed in the trunk of the Vic for unexpected terrain scenarios such as this while Karen had surprised him by grabbing a go-bag from the closet in her office before they left, from which she'd pulled a pair of sturdy hiking shoes upon their arrival at Los Padres.

Carlton couldn't help but wonder how long his boss had yearned to be back in the field.

"About a half-mile more. You doing okay there, ma'am?" he called back to Karen while looking to Carlton with what he figured was supposed to be something of a "brothers-in-arms" smirk.

Oh, this ought to be good. Carlton allowed himself a half-smile, but only after the old man had turned back to the path. Codger _was_ armed after all.

"Doing great, thanks," Karen replied easily, pulling even with Carlton as the path widened far enough for them to walk side-by-side. With a couple more steps, she'd passed him and caught up to Herb. "Oh, and Herb, I prefer Karen—or if it makes you more comfortable, Chief."

With that, she passed the older man and loped along the trail he'd pointed out on the map before they started. Once again, Herb glanced over his shoulder, but this time, it was with surprise clearly written across his craggy features. "She's your _boss_?"

Carlton supposed the other man's shock shouldn't have come as any great surprise—they'd merely introduced themselves by name and as being from the SBPD without any consideration for rank. No damn time for it. But still, it wasn't as if female officers were that uncommon, even in command positions. Who knew, though? Maybe out here in the boonies, the news women had the vote was late in arriving.

"Yep. And my regular partner's a woman, too." With a grin, he caught up to Karen, his smile fading as he caught Ranger Herb's not-quite-_sotto _"whipped," as he passed. Old man better be careful—Carlton had been at the range during Karen's last weapons recertification test and he was more than certain she could take the old coot out at a hundred paces without breaking a sweat.

As he drew even with her, she grinned and quietly said, "Relax," with a pointed glance at his hand hovering near his weapon.

"I could've gotten us up here without him," he murmured quietly.

"Me too," she replied. "But like back home, until we know exactly what we're dealing with, we need all the warm bodies we can get, so it's in our best interests to play nice."

"Yeah, but one more smartass comment—"

"I can take care of myself, Carlton."

"I _know_ that."

_Jesus_. Momentary concerns about her level of exhaustion and how it might affect her performance aside, how could she think, even for a _second_, he didn't know she was completely capable of looking after herself? More than a little offended he snapped, "I meant if asshat back there decides he wants to take another shot at my sanity or abilities because I choose to work with women."

A surge of angry adrenaline powering him forward, he took off up the trail, leaving Karen several steps behind. After a few moments though, she easily caught up and kept pace, though she remained silent, allowing the sounds of crunching leaves and twigs and the occasional call of a bird to serve as background noise.

"It hasn't always been a choice." Her voice was very quiet, yet he still felt as if he'd been hammered upside the head with a two-by-four. That still had nails in it.

Glancing back over his shoulder Carlton saw that Herb had fallen a couple dozen paces behind—probably afraid of the girl cooties or more likely, waiting for them to unwittingly stumble over a cliff—so he felt safe in coming to a complete stop and turning to face her.

"Yes, actually—it has."

No sudden response to his quiet statement—no gasp or widening of the eyes or indignant words arguing how he was completely full of shit. Nothing beyond that deep brown gaze fixed on him, studying him. A pretty commonplace occurrence, honestly.

Part of what made Karen Vick so damned good at her job was that she never allowed herself become complacent or satisfied with status quo. Never merely accepted anything as an absolute. She was well-versed in the mutability of human nature—how it could shift and sweep in and out like the tide, regular but with enough variables that the smart person kept a close eye on it. Based on those astute observations, she would then act accordingly.

It used to make him nervous as hell—feeling that sharp brown assessing stare resting on him.

Still did. But for different reasons altogether.

"I'm sorry," she finally said.

Another long moment passed, one in which a host of different thoughts passed through his mind to be filed away for later study. For right now, a simple "Thanks," would have to do. Along with a slight smile that she responded to with one of her own before turning to continue making her way along the trail, waiting to make certain he fell in step beside her.

_How do you do that?_

Not the first time he'd pondered that question. Mulled over that willingness she possessed to acknowledge a misstep—trying to figure out how it was she did it so easily, yet without sacrificing any respect or her impact as a leader.

The first time he'd grasped that ability was the first time he'd truly acknowledged she was a better choice for Chief of Police than he'd ever be. Another reason he'd remained as her Head Detective when many had assumed he'd bolt as soon as he could. Okay, yeah, at first he'd stayed put because he didn't think there was a chance in hell she'd last. There was that whole "interim" tag for one thing, plus the not-so-insignificant fact of her pregnancy and impending first-time motherhood. Yeah, he'd thought the maternal instinct—if it actually existed, not having any practical experience with it himself—would kick in, she'd take an extra-long maternity leave that would evolve into something, well, _permanent_, and he'd be able to claim the position that should have been his all along.

But she'd had Iris. And he'd been there. And he'd seen exactly what she was made of and knew, there was no way in hell this woman would leave anything unless she damn well wanted to or was pushed out by forces _way_ beyond her control.

Prompted him to ponder, also not for the first time, the question of who'd left?

But that was a question to which he might never get an answer.

_Well, you _could_, you spineless jackass_.

Maybe. Maybe not.

Hell, in all likelihood, _not_. For a lot of reasons, the _least_ of which was his spineless jackassery.

Regardless, this was definitely neither the time nor the place now, was it? Not with crusty old Ranger Herb putting on a surprising burst of speed and not only catching up to them but passing them just before they rounded a bend, turning and holding up his hand like some backwoods Gomer Pyle.

"We're gonna come to a clearing in a few hundred yards and that's where…"

Carlton felt the uneasy sensation he'd first experienced when they'd initially received the call skittering down his spine and settling at the base in a cold hard ball at the way the old man paused and paled.

"I know you all are from the city and have probably seen a lot—but I guarantee, you ain't seen nothing like this."

Carlton turned his head to meet Karen's gaze. Again, no alarm, no underlying panic lurking in the dark brown, just steady and assessing, looking to _him_ to see if he was prepared for… whatever it was they might find.

"Ready?" she asked quietly, that laser-sharp gaze all-encompassing and yet somehow making him feel as if in that moment, he was the sole object of her focus.

"After you—" Nodding at Herb, Carlton gestured she should follow. Just before she broke their gaze, however, he added a soft, "Partner."

And watched as her eyes widened—just a fraction—before she smiled faintly and turned to follow the ranger.

Carlton allowed himself to savor that moment. It's as if he _knew_ at a gut level, how horrific everything after would be. That he'd need any little bit of something good to cling to. That faint smile from Karen? That light in her eyes at his acknowledgement?

That was good.

What met them as they rounded the final bend and broke into the clearing?

Should have been good.

Ringed with trees and scrub, awash in sunlight that bathed it with soothing warmth and glinted off the Santa Ynez flowing past with playful splashes and gurgles.

A beautiful, peaceful spot. The kind of spot he sought out for himself all too often.

Which made the sight of the three bodies, laid out and charred to an unrecognizable black, so utterly jarring.

And most assuredly, _not_ good.


	4. Chapter 4

The usual disclaimers apply—no ownership in anything **psych, **TPTB have everything, I have nothing except ideas for the unlikeliest of pairings and romantic schmoop that would have no place on the actual show. Which is, of course, why we have fanfic.

* * *

_**Chapter 4**_

"Son of a _bitch_."

As the first cold heavy drops hit her face and slid down her neck, Karen couldn't help but agree with Carlton. As if the remote location wasn't enough of a challenge.

"How are the techs doing?" she asked.

"They've got everything from around the immediate site, and the bodies are bagged and tagged and ready to go down," he replied, squinting as rain hit his face and trickled into his eyes. He shook his head impatiently. "We've got the one I.D. the rangers discovered near the bodies, but nothing else has turned up. There's got to be more, though."

Carlton scrubbed a hand over his face and shot a baleful glare up at the darkening sky. "It's as if the doer _wanted_ the bodies discovered—or at least, once they were discovered—"

"Wanted them recovered and treated with respect," she finished. They'd been doing a lot of that this afternoon.

"Right," he grumbled. "Because barbequing them is such a sign of respect."

"Detective," she warned, although, come to think of it… "You know, in some cultures it is," she mused, finally putting her finger on what it was that had been bothering her ever since they'd first laid eyes on the crime scene. Or dump site. It wasn't clear yet if the deaths had taken place here or if this had simply been the chosen location for what might have been a ritual. Carlton's flippant comment, however, served as the proverbial light bulb and set all of Karen's instincts to tingling. In her gut she _knew_ while the question of whether this was a murder remained, the disposal method was definitely meant to convey a message.

But what?

Despite more questions than answers, Karen couldn't suppress the surge of satisfaction and excitement thrumming through her and leave her tingling like a live wire. This was exactly how an investigation was supposed to proceed. She also couldn't deny the undeniable relief following in the wake of the satisfaction and excitement. Thank God—it all still worked.

"Let's give the area another once over, Carlton."

He glanced up at the rapidly darkening sky, blinking away the drops that were falling with increasing speed and ferocity. "We're going to have to make it quick." In the rapidly encroaching gloom, his eyes stood out, brilliant blue with an underlying intensity.

"I know, but you're right. There _has_ to be more than that single I.D."

A driver's license identifying one Reginald Sutherland, age 68, resident of Santa Barbara and reason they'd been called in by the rangers rather than the case being automatically turned over to the County Sheriff or State Police. Their personnel had been on site as well, but as support—this was their case and she and Carlton were in charge.

She and Carlton. Good to know that still worked, too. Her ability to work side-by-side with a partner. And she couldn't deny it felt good, too, after so many years of being the sole decision maker—the one on whom the buck came to a screeching, sometimes painful halt—to share the load. Look, she wouldn't lie—she liked being in charge—but sometimes, it was lonely as hell being the final voice. The one no one would challenge... at least, whom _most_ people wouldn't challenge. She glanced over at Carlton, striding to the furthest edge of their originally established perimeter without question, knowing they had a short window of time before the rain damaged or completely washed away evidence.

Another thing she couldn't deny—it felt good to be working with _him_.

It'd been a novel experience, watching that prickly arrogance turned on that misogynistic old goat in _her_ defense. And despite that it was her rank he'd made a point of emphasizing in that moment, he'd otherwise treated her like a true partner. They'd worked surprisingly well in tandem, quickly developing a silent shorthand and playing off each other like a seasoned team. Certainly their work today hadn't had the feel of a boss and subordinate. Then again, those had never really been their roles, had they? His defensiveness over the perceived loss of a position that he'd felt was his coupled with two years of the interim tag had required them to walk a tightrope unlike any she'd had to walk with any of her other officers.

Carlton Lassiter—always a bit of a maverick.

And she once again experienced that flash of sensation that had been a constant companion for more time than she cared to admit but after her customary acknowledgement, she set it aside with practiced ease to examine and mull over later. Now was not the time.

They began scouring the area again, by tacit agreement working away from the immediate dump site. If there had been anything to find there, the forensics team would have already uncovered it. After several minutes, she glanced over at him, noting the concentration drawing his brows together and the coiled intensity rendering his movements efficient and economical. The steadily falling rain plastered his hair to his head, subduing the silver and leaving it sleek and black—as he ran an impatient long-fingered hand through it, momentarily raking it into a riot of short waves and cowlicks, she shook her head.

_God, Karen, what is wrong with you? Now is not the time, dammit._

_Then when?_

_Later._

_When later? When you're in the same condition as those poor bastards being carted down the trail?_

_**Later**._

Aggravated at her mental lapse, she abruptly turned away and promptly stumbled over a partially buried branch. Pain shot up her leg, her cry strangled by the force of the wind being knocked out of her as she slammed face down on the wet ground, her fall only partially cushioned by a layer or fallen leaves.

"Christ, Karen—are you okay?"

Still gasping for air, she grasped the rain-slicked sleeve of Carlton's SBPD windbreaker with one hand as with the other she pointed directly in front of her.

"Holy crap," he breathed, his hold tightening on her arm.

In between pained wheezes, she gasped out, "That's got to be it, right?"

"What else could it be?"

After helping her to a sitting position, he pulled an evidence bag from his pocket, holding it as she carefully slipped in the crudely constructed cross that had been nestled against the base of an enormous tree, hidden by leaves and branches dislodged by rain and her timely fall. The cross itself had marked a hollow in the base of the tree in which was stored a Ziploc bag with two more I.D.s as well as some personal effects.

Karen's heart climbed into her throat as she took stock of the wedding rings, the necklace with a small cross, the photographs—evidence of lives and experiences—all sealed away. With care and consideration and an undeniable respect.

"Is that it?"

Karen aimed her flashlight into the hollow and cautiously felt around with her gloved hand. She hadn't seen reflection off of any beady eyes or heard anything slithery or otherwise suspiciously wildlife-like, but that didn't mean something wasn't lying in wait. And wouldn't it be just her luck to suffer some sort of fatal poisonous bite right now?

_At least you could make a dramatic exit—make a nice deathbed declaration._

_Bite me._

_Not me you have to worry about. Hey, did something rustle around in those depths?_

Yanking her hand free, she shifted, inhaling a sharp breath as she found herself literally, face to face with Carlton, his gaze fixed on her, deep blue pierced by brilliant, all-seeing black. For a long, suspended moment, awareness crackled along her nerve-endings, the rain and the horror of the day fading into the background.

_He feels it, too. _

"Appears to be," she finally managed.

He blinked, rain drops clinging briefly to his lashes before rolling down his face. "Then let's get the hell out of here."

"Don't have to tell me twice."

She took a deep breath as he stood and extended a hand to help her up. At her wince, he asked, "You okay?"

"Ankle's a little tender."

"Can you walk?"

Cautiously, she put her full weight on the leg, taking deep breaths. "I'm good." She took a few steps, swallowing hard against the pain, but relieved that the tender ankle did seem able to support most of her weight fairly well. Well enough to get them back to their car—and since it was her left, leaving her the ability to drive, because by God, he _would _keep his promise to get some rest on the way home.

"Karen, you don't have to prove anything to me." The familiar frown was firmly in place, cutting deep lines between his brows.

"I really can walk, Carlton." Karen took a few steps toward the trail, each one coming a little easier than the one before. She might pay hard tomorrow, but she'd deal with that then. "Besides, what do you propose we do, have Herb carry me down to the trailhead?"

She nodded at the crusty old ranger, standing and directing traffic as the teams quickly packed up equipment and began the long walk back down to the staging area. Karen had to hand it to the old guy—his initial pain in the ass attitude had given way to a calm, knowledgeable nature guide, keeping things moving smoothly and warning the teams of potential hazards the worsening weather could cause as they made their way back down the hill. And he'd even offered her a grudging apology after he'd taken note at how _she'd_ organized the various law enforcement agencies into a smoothly operating machine.

"Hell no, not Herb. _He's_ not your partner." His shuttered brilliant blue glance made his intent perfectly clear and sent that live-wire awareness prickling down her spine again.

_Later, Karen. It _has_ to wait for later._

Except damn if later didn't seem to be rushing headlong in her direction, whether or not she was ready for it. And for the first time she realized it might not necessarily be by her hand, either.


	5. Chapter 5

The usual disclaimers apply—no ownership in anything **psych, **TPTB have everything, I have nothing except ideas for the unlikeliest of pairings and romantic schmoop that would have no place on the actual show. Which is why we have fanfic.

* * *

_**Chapter 5**_

"It's a doctor."

"We know," Carlton wearily answered Spencer's grandiose, albeit thankfully hoarse, declaration. The idiot hovered in the threshold to Karen's office where they'd been huddled the entire night, along with O'Hara, who'd been waiting at the station when they arrived back from Los Padres. Casually dressed jeans, a sweatshirt, and looking just this side of death warmed over, but as she'd explained, it was come into the station as a detective or come in as a perp, because she _was_ going to kill Shawn.

"You do?"

"Yes, Mr. Spencer, we do."

"Oh."

Karen stretched and yawned, rubbing her hands over her face. "We even know who."

"Oh."

Annoyed though he might have been at the interruption, Carlton couldn't help but chuckle at how the idiot visibly deflated, leaving him looking almost forlorn, with his slightly reddened nose and his hair sticking out even more wildly than usual.

"Yes, oh." Karen's smile was, to Carlton's eye, a thing of evil beauty. "He's being brought in for questioning right now. I'm _so_ going to need more coffee for this," she muttered, almost to herself.

"Stay put," Carlton replied quietly as she sat up straighter and made to push herself away from the table. "I was going to get myself some anyhow after I escort Spencer out."

Not really, because his stomach lining felt as if it was about to eat itself and if he ingested any more caffeine, it was entirely possible he could set off sparks that would drive the city into a blackout. He'd even gone so far as to take the rare step of storing his sidearm in his locker—lucky for Spencer. But Karen didn't need to be up and walking anymore than necessary—on their return she'd popped a handful of ibuprofen and propped her swollen ankle up whenever she could while he'd made a point of doing whatever needed to be done in order to keep her butt firmly planted in the chair, leg propped up. His stomach lining eating itself was a small price to pay.

"Thanks," she said with a tired smile and a pointed glance out the door where Spencer was currently risking his life harassing an exhausted Sergeant Allen and Manuel. "And thank you," she added more quietly, her smile deepening slightly, letting him know she was well aware what he was up to.

Feeling the telltale flush beginning at the base of his throat, he quickly nodded and turned away before she could notice he was an idiot. "O'Hara?" he asked, collecting his mug as well as Karen's.

She glanced up. "I'll come with—I need to stretch and grab a fresh box of Kleenex."

As she stood, she hit him with a speculative dark blue gaze. She'd hit him with a lot of those throughout the long night of poring over case files and making phone calls. While they'd immediately invited her in to sit in on the case, Karen had made it clear should a call come in requiring a detective and O'Hara was the only one available, she'd have to take it. Making it very clear _this_ case belonged to Karen and Carlton.

Put him in mind of the case where he and Guster had attempted to work together while O'Hara and Spencer worked a different angle. That time, it had felt all wrong and brought with it the realization that their established partnerships were the right ones. This time, however—

He suppressed a sigh as he felt O'Hara's gaze searching his, felt Karen's on them both—and felt compelled to turn to meet Karen's. To feel the sense of _their_ bond—so recently established yet already far beyond tenuous. They'd worked together remarkably well. Better, even, than he and O'Hara often had in the past year.

Carlton couldn't help but wonder if O'Hara was feeling the way he had so many times in the past when she'd sided with Spencer and left him floundering in the dust. He suspected, on the basis of all those glances, that she probably did. He might have expected to feel a certain measure of gloating satisfaction and he did—a little, because hell, he was human and being shut out so thoroughly over the past year had _sucked_—but he mostly felt tired and kind of sad that O'Hara had to discover how he'd felt in such a visceral way. After all, when this case was done and this damned flu epidemic was over, Karen would return to being Chief and he and O'Hara would resume their partnership.

But it would be different.

Juliet O'Hara was an outstanding partner—the best he'd ever had and he hoped it remained that way for many years to come.

But his total reliance on her as his only partner? No—the scales were more equally balanced now and that could only be a good thing. For both of them.

"So—" O'Hara filled the mugs while he grabbed sugar packets and the half-and-half in their long established ritual. "How was it working in the field with the Chief?"

"Fine."

"Yeah?" She cocked her head as she accepted the sugar from him, her gaze fixed on his movements as he unhesitatingly added sugar and cream to Karen's mug.

"Mm-hm." He knew she wanted more. Wanted to ask more—wanted him to say more—while he really… _didn't_. O'Hara _was_ damned good at her job after all and he didn't need her delving too deep.

"He's an ER doc!" Spencer bellowed across the bullpen.

"We _know_," Carlton answered in unison with O'Hara. Shaking his head, he asked, "You want me to get rid of him or are you going to take him out back and put us out of our misery?"

"I'll deal with him." She sighed and downed the contents of her mug in one long swallow. "Here." She pulled her sidearm from her holster and handed it to Carlton. "I really do not trust myself right now."

"Understood." Tucking her weapon at his back, he picked up the two mugs and returned to Karen's office where she thankfully, remained seated at the table, leg propped up on a chair. Sliding her mug in front of her, he placed O'Hara's weapon on the folders she'd been studying.

As she lifted the mug, Karen glanced over at the sidearm with a grin. "She dealing with Mr. Spencer?"

"Yup." He resumed his seat, the one next to her propped up ankle, and glanced down. "You sure you wouldn't be more comfortable on the sofa?" It was about the fifth time he'd asked the question since their return and each time she'd patiently replied that she was fine. He slid O'Hara's weapon a bit further out of Karen's reach. Just in case.

"I'm _fine_, Carlton."

With a smile she took a sip of coffee, sighing and closing her eyes in appreciation and allowing him to just… look. Even exhausted, her skin pale and her dark blonde hair disheveled, she was just so damned _pretty_. And he had to be pretty damned exhausted himself that he was allowing himself to think that during working hours. Everything was so damned off-kilter though, and had been ever since they'd received the call about this case. She'd been both boss and partner—at odd, quiet moments friend and—

"I'm afraid if I move to the sofa at this point, I'm liable to just pass out. And if I'm going to do that, I want it to be in a bed." Her voice was soft, with an earthy quality that brought to mind things he _really_ had to be exhausted to be allowing himself to imagine at work.

Bad enough he imagined them at all. But he'd been able to keep it restrained for a long time. With practice and his formidable discipline, he'd managed to tuck those thoughts away and only allowed them out late at night.

But dear God, _this_ was late night material.

Especially with the way she was blinking sleepily, shoving her hair out of her face. Color slowly rising in her cheeks as she steadily met his gaze.

_It _is_ late night. Or early morning. Whatever. Semantics._

_Shut up._

Look_ at her, idiot—she's not your boss right now. She's not even your partner. She's just Karen._

"After we're done here, I'm taking you home—no arguments."

The voice sounded like his. The words were even his typical gruff sort of declaration, brooking no contradictions.

And yet at the same time, they sounded as if they were coming from outside himself. From someone who sounded like him, but couldn't possibly _be_ him. Because what that Not Him person was implying was that he had some sort of sway over Karen Vick. Some sort of… claim.

That Not Him person was an idiot. Clearly.

"Carlton?"

He gripped his mug tighter. "Yeah?"

Her voice was very soft and unless he was totally hallucinating even more than he already imagined he was, sounded almost tentative. "If you take me home…would you—"

More color rose as she paused and deliberately wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Carlton felt a corresponding heat rising as she very slowly asked the question he'd never imagined she'd ever ask, but could admit, here—_now_—that he'd desperately wanted to hear.

"Would you... want to stay?"

His heart pounded against his chest so hard it left him short of breath. Yet he was still able to muster a steady, "Yes." And by God, it was him, _not_ Not Him who answered.

"Okay." She leaned back in her chair, still blinking sleepily, but with a heightened awareness lightening the deep brown of her eyes to a heated gold. With a sigh, she gently nudged his thigh with her foot. "Good."

Well, someone had laid a claim.

Hell if he knew who, though.


	6. Chapter 6

The usual disclaimers apply—no ownership in anything **psych, **TPTB have everything, I have nothing except ideas for the unlikeliest of pairings and romantic schmoop that would have no place on the actual show. Which is why we have fanfic.

* * *

_**Chapter 6**_

The sudden absence of the engine's quiet rumble left the interior of Carlton's car even more silent. Neither of them moved, just sat, in his car, in her driveway, staring straight ahead, not saying a word, barely daring to breathe, it felt like.

Karen kept her gaze fixed on the brushed aluminum trim bisecting the spotless black dash. Part of her thought she might be out of her mind. The other part of her—the part that had used exhaustion to its advantage and pushed past all the "sensible" arguments she'd been using for years—thought this was the smartest damned thing she'd ever done outside of having Iris.

"We got him."

Karen felt a ghost of a smile crossing her face. He was nervous. Made two of them.

"We did."

"Were you surprised it turned out to be so simple?"

She sighed and rolled her head around on her neck, trying to work out the kinks. "Come on, Carlton—how many times have we seen the worst cases originating from the simplest motivations?"

"I know. It's just so goddamned sad and senseless." From the edges of her vision she saw his hands gripping the steering wheel, the long fingers tightening and relaxing. "A doctor, for God's sake—overworked, stressed, having to tell one family too many their loved ones are gone—"

"And thought if he made a sacrifice of victims that were already beyond help—burned away the impurities—it might appease the gods," she finished, as she had so often over the past twenty-four hours.

"Idiot," he growled in a burst of typical Carlton bad humor. "We're overworked as hell, too, Karen, and we're not snapping and injecting people with enough morphine to down a rhino."

"I know, but tell me we haven't been tempted on more than one occasion—" She fought back a smile. "Even as recently as this morning."

"But we don't _do_ it." He released a frustrated breath as he scrubbed a hand over his face. "Hell, listen to me talking like I have a leg to stand on. I'm the one who tried to shish kebab Guster."

"Under the influence of enough of a psychotropic to down a rhino and the suggestions of a sociopath who fed into your worst fears. And you still didn't do it."

"Only because Spencer body slammed me to the ground and wouldn't let me have my sword back."

"I don't think you would have done it."

"I think you give me too much credit."

She fought the temptation to reach out and touch—to soothe the agitation and confusion and frustration at the frailty of human nature—including his own. "You're stronger than most, Carlton. It's why you're so damned good at your job."

"Right," he sighed.

Silence fell again, tension continuing to fill the car's interior until Karen felt compelled to confess to something that was probably fairly horrible, but it was the truth and somewhere in the short journey from the station to her house she'd made the decision that she'd tell him the truth—about anything he would think to ask. But also knowing his reserve—his inherent shyness—well aware he wouldn't ever venture to ask anything. At least, not until he felt as if he could.

One way to prove it was okay—that he could ask anything he wanted of her—would be to offer a truth. Something she wouldn't share with anyone else.

_Couldn't_ share with anyone else.

"Carlton?"

"Yeah?"

Oh, God—she could hear it in his voice. He was expecting her to say she'd changed her mind. Was expecting rejection. Was expecting the worst.

_Oh, Carlton—no…_

"Would you…" She swallowed, because really, this was awful and probably said something terrible about her and for all she knew, he might be the one doing the rejecting after she made her confession.

"It's okay, Karen." His voice was flat and resigned. "I'll help you to the door and—"

"No—" She shook her head, staring straight ahead at the dash—the brushed aluminum so subtle and elegant and providing a stark contrast to the black of the rest of the dash. Like his hair, she thought idly. "I mean, yes, I want you to help me to the door, but no, I do _not_ want you to leave."

"Oh."

"Yes, _oh_." She smiled faintly as she recalled using the same words on Spencer hours earlier. The way her voice emerged for Carlton was completely different, though.

"Then what?"

She took a deep breath and spit it out in a rush. "Would you think less of me if I confessed to being a little sorry we managed to solve the case so quickly?"

"Why?" She could almost _hear_ his eyebrows rising.

"Because—" Heat rose in her cheeks, because this was the absolute truth part—the part she wanted him to get. Lifting her gaze from the dash, she turned to face him–look into those blue, blue eyes whose impact even extreme exhaustion couldn't diminish. Right now they were dark with curiosity and unless her instincts were completely out of whack, something more. Something… promising.

It made the absolute truth a lot easier to confess.

"It means we won't be working as partners anymore." Finally giving into temptation, she slowly reached out and put her hand on his arm—bare since his sleeves were rolled up. "I really enjoyed being out in the field again. With you. I'm—"

As his eyes narrowed suspiciously, she realized he wouldn't be finishing her statement this time. No way he could because it would require believing something he didn't think he had any right to believe. Nope—this one was _all _on her.

"I'm going to miss being with you, Carlton—so much."

Beneath her palm she felt the warmth of his skin and the subtle shift of muscle as he tensed, relaxed, then tensed again, in an entirely different manner.

"I'm going to miss being with you, too," he said quietly, a small smile relaxing the stern, narrow lines of his mouth into a surprisingly sensual curve. "However… we _can_ look at the bright side."

"What's that?" she replied just as quietly, mesmerized by how the blue of his gaze deepened past promise, right on into outright desire.

His movements sure, he leaned across the console, free hand rising to brush her hair back with an impossibly light touch she felt all the way down to her toes with a nice, lengthy pause in her midsection. An honest-to-God gasp escaped her as he shifted his arm, capturing her hand in his and bringing it to his mouth. His lips ghosted against her palm, his breath bathing her skin in warm, damp gusts as he murmured, "The departmental regulations against partners becoming involved no longer apply."

Her eyes drifted shut as she turned her hand in his, holding on tight, feeling as if she was about to float away. "Carlton."

She was fairly certain she'd never heard her voice emerge quite like that—low and breathless and inviting and nervous and sure and…

"_Carlton_…" This time, his name emerged as a long sigh, heavy with the same sort of promise she'd seen reflected in his eyes.

"God, Karen, is this for real?"

To Karen, his low voice sounded every bit as wondering and nervous as hers. Every bit as sure.

Opening her eyes, she studied the dozens of facets of blue and gray in his—studied the fine lines, the silver-flecked black hair, the bluish circles beneath his eyes, the heavy beard shadow. Carlton Lassiter wasn't young or inexperienced and he certainly didn't look at the world through rose-colored glasses. Here was a man with more than a little mileage on him, who'd had his emotions battered and his heart stomped on and despite all that…he had hope.

He sat before her, a little guarded, a little terrified, and despite all that… hopeful.

Made two of them.

Cupping his face in her hands, Karen leaned forward until her forehead touched his, her heart beating faster at their intimate proximity—new and unfamiliar and indescribably right. "You brought me home."

His mouth brushed lightly against hers, coffee scented breath warm. "I did."

"So… remember what I asked?"

"I do." His voice vibrated across her skin, raising goosebumps.

She moved a fraction closer, thrilling to the more complete feel of his mouth, yet longing for more. For everything.

"And—?" she breathed, feeling him shiver beneath her touch, her body growing heavy with desire and holy hell, was it warm in this car or what?

"Well, I've got question of my own."

"What?" she practically whimpered, her hands sliding back and sinking into his hair.

"Do you want me?"

Karen drew back, just far enough to meet his gaze, seeing in them the clear message that this was her last chance—she could change her mind and walk away right now. They'd return to their roles as Chief Vick and Detective Lassiter and he'd never say another word. But if she said what he was so clearly hoping she'd say, all bets were off. They'd be Karen and Carlton and she'd be his.

Despite the insistent jackhammering of her heartbeat at the base of her throat, her voice emerged steady and sure as she repeated what he'd said in her office.

"Yes."

Thank God it was only a short word, considering how quickly he moved to claim her mouth and in that instant Karen knew—

She was his.


	7. Chapter 7

The usual disclaimers apply—no ownership in anything **psych, **TPTB have everything, I have nothing except ideas for the unlikeliest of pairings and romantic schmoop that would have no place on the actual show. Which is why we have fanfic.

Remember I said we might be going **M**-ish? Well, we've gone **M**-ish. We've also gone shmoopy. Not that I think those of you who I _know_ are reading will mind.

*You know who you are.*

* * *

_**Chapter 7**_

Karen's kiss was heat and softness and power—so much power, Carlton felt lightheaded and dizzy, yet wanted more. Wanted to grasp that power and hold it close and make it part of himself. Angling his head, he delved deeper, his tongue stroking hers, since she'd wasted no time opening to him, inviting him to take, giving as good as she got, taking from him in turn. Her hands were cool on the heated skin of his face and neck, her nails scratching slightly before sliding into his hair, tugging gently, sending pinpricks of sensation from his scalp, across every sensitive nerve ending of which he was aware and a few he didn't even know existed.

He sure as hell knew now.

"Inside," she gasped, her breath warm and damp against his ear.

"What?"

"Inside, Carlton—now."

Her teeth tugged at his lower lip, and holy crap, even more nerve endings he never knew existed came to life.

"_Please_."

Awareness returned as her plea penetrated his lust-fogged brain. Crap—they were still in the car. In her driveway. Where anyone and their damned mother could be stumble past and see the Chief of Police just this side of public indecency.

"Jesus, Karen—"

"Don't you dare apologize," she all but growled, nuzzling against his jaw and nipping lightly at the skin. "Let's just get inside the damned house, _now_."

Didn't have to tell him twice. Bolting from the car, he rounded the front and yanked open the passenger door, not so far gone he didn't notice her wincing as he helped her stand. So far gone, though, he couldn't help but kiss her again, needing to feel the perfect, lush softness of her mouth beneath his. So far gone, he had to pause to savor her gasp with a burst of male pride as he swept her up into his arms. Cradling her close, he kicked the car door shut and turned toward the house.

As he strode to her front door, he grinned down at the startled expression that relaxed into a smile as she wound her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh.

"Any of my nosy neighbors happen to see this, they're going to think I've eloped or something."

_God, yes_—

But he managed to bite back the instinctive response—just barely—because hello—he wasn't _that_ insane.

"Carlton, you're not freaking out, are you?"

"Hell, no." He shifted just far enough to let her insert the key into the lock. "It's kind of surprising how much I'm _not_ freaking out."

She grinned and reached up to kiss him again. "Me, too," she whispered against his mouth as he crossed the threshold and shouldered the door closed.

Okay, maybe he _was_ that insane—considering if she suggested they turn around and drive back to the courthouse, he wouldn't argue.

Then again… considering how one of her hands was stroking his chest, unbuttoning what she could of his shirt and reaching in to stroke his skin—maybe he'd suggest they wait an hour… or two or three… before turning around and returning to the courthouse.

Yeah. Certifiable. And right now, it felt like the best kind of insanity.

Waiting only long enough for her to lock the door and key in the security code, he turned and strode up the stairs, following her whispered directions to her room, dim and warm, vanilla and jasmine wrapping around him, much in the way Karen herself was wrapped around him. And now that they were here, finally, the urgency took on a different feel—the attraction that had been living between them for a damned long time, he acknowledged, growing into a power that threatened to overwhelm him, sweep him away.

Generally, he would never give into a loss of control—

This time—with this woman—he couldn't imagine anything he wanted to do more.

Laying Karen on the bed, he stretched out, half-beside, half-over her, kissing deeply, his hands smoothly unbuttoning her blouse as hers performed the same task, pushing fabric out the way, efficiently unbuckling his belt and undoing his slacks. He groaned against her neck as she reached inside his shorts and stroked—gritting his teeth against the blinding pleasure, he reached beneath her and unhooked her bra, groaning again as she writhed and twisted beneath him, shucking off shirt and bra while somehow still managing to keep a hand on him, stroking, driving hot shards of pleasure deep into him.

"God, Karen—" He lowered his head to her breasts, learning her curves with his mouth as his hands unzipped her jeans and pushed them down along with her underwear, freeing the smooth length of her legs.

"Carlton—" Karen's sigh shuddered through her chest, a sweet vibration against his mouth as one of her legs worked its way between his. Followed by more writhing and undulating that sent stars shooting past his vision as she used it to push his slacks and boxers down his legs. "I've wanted—"

"Me, too—so damned much—" His hands stroked from her thighs along the curve of her waist, replacing his mouth with his hands as he reclaimed her mouth for another one of those hard, searing kisses he couldn't seem to get enough of from her. She tasted so damned good—all heat and rich sweetness with a bit of a bite further back. So many layers, so much to learn, and he wanted to take his time, wanted to taste every inch of her, but he wanted…

"Show me—" she whispered, her tongue tracing a devastating path along the rim of his ear as her hands stroked his back with agitated motions, her nails scoring his skin in a way that made him arch against her. Imitation of the motion he needed to be making more fully—in her.

"Now—" she urged, one hand reaching between them.

"Oh, God," he groaned as she grasped him again, firmly and with clear intent. "I can't be gentle," he managed to warn as he felt her heat where he was most sensitive. "Not this time."

"Who said I wanted you to be?" Releasing him, Karen moved her hands to his hips, pulling hard, giving him all the permission he needed. Instinct took over as he drove into her, hard and relentless, his hands moving to pin hers to the bed, their fingers tightly laced together, as if she was holding him as firmly as he held her.

Thank God, since the feel of her around him, holding him closely, intimately, moving with him, the sounds of their lovemaking surrounding them, made him feel as if he was losing himself. Blood rushed in his ears, his heart pounding hard against his chest as he claimed Karen, pushed her over the edge, made her his. Her cry, as she orgasmed, was his name—claiming him in turn and serving as a surprising balm, allowing him to slow down enough to kiss her again, to lower his head and taste the sweat trickling between her breasts, to whisper things he probably had no business confessing, but that had lived inside him for far too long and demanded release. Now.

It was her kiss, her mouth gentle on his, her tongue tracing the edges of his lips—her voice gasping his name once more that allowed Carlton to utterly and completely lose control and lose himself in her.

It would have been easy, in the breathless quiet that followed, to think he'd imagined her quiet words—words that matched his own confession.

But her gaze, wide and golden brown and holding his as closely as she held the rest of him, wouldn't allow him to think it was anything less than real.

That all of this was real.

"God, Karen…" He gently stroked her damp hair back from her forehead. "Is this for real?"

Her fingertips gently trailed up his arms and across his shoulders, wispy light caresses, simultaneously soothing and arousing. Her palms were warm on his cheeks as she cupped his face and drew him down for a slow, languorous kiss, different from any of their previous kisses—gentle, soothing, yet with the promise of more. So much more.

"You brought me home, Carlton," she murmured. She ghosted the backs of her fingers against his cheek. "You brought me home," she repeated, her voice weighted with meaning and making him feel as if he was losing control all over again. In the best ways.

Carlton felt a slow smile start deep in his chest and make its way out. Slowly, he lowered his head, touching his forehead to hers.

"Ditto."


	8. Chapter 8

The usual disclaimers apply—no ownership in anything **psych, **TPTB have everything, I have nothing except ideas for the unlikeliest of pairings and romantic schmoop that would have no place on the actual show. Which is why we have fanfic.

* * *

_**Chapter 8**_

"You're wearing it."

Karen shivered as Carlton's long fingers played along her skin, freeing the long rose-gold chain from where it had fallen beneath her neck. More light touches as he untwisted it and straightened it out, sliding the small medallion until it rested between her breasts. His hand remained there, resting on her rib cage, his thumb stroking the shield with the ease of an oft-practiced gesture.

"Always."

"Always?" One eyebrow rose in a sadly too-familiar expression, the light in his eyes guarded, the doubts trying like hell to shove aside the sated satisfaction that had so recently rendered them a lovely, mellow blue.

The hell they would.

"Always." She placed her hand over his, breathing deep at the warm, sensual feel of their hands together on her skin—of the utter rightness of his body curved closely to hers. Propped on an elbow the way he was, the solid weight of his thigh resting over one of hers, she felt cherished and protected in a way she very rarely experienced.

Really, that she very rarely allowed herself to experience.

"I don't leave this house without putting that medallion on." Her fingertips brushed against the shield in a familiar gesture. "Only once did I forget it and I felt so completely wrong and off-kilter, I had to come home at lunch to get it." After everything she'd already said, what came next shouldn't have been so difficult to say, but she nevertheless felt an inexplicable shyness, knowing how very much it could reveal.

"It's part of me, Carlton."

His eyes closed at her words, and damn, the man had not just beautiful eyes, but gorgeous eyelashes, sooty black arcs resting against fair skin, ever-so-lightly dusted with freckles. Sensuality mixed with innocence, neither of which were terms anyone would ever think to apply to Carlton and yet that applied equally, she realized. This man was all about passion and heat and further down, where she understood he let precious few in, there still lived the hopefulness of which she'd caught a glimpse. That was all about the boy who believed there could be something good for him out there even if the man he'd become had been disappointed, time and again.

"Holy crap," he breathed, also in such an utterly Carlton-like way she found herself torn between tenderness and laughter, as she reached up to pull his head down to hers for another kiss. Laughter faded to a sigh as his mouth molded so perfectly to hers. Perhaps the loveliest of discoveries amidst all the lovely discoveries this afternoon—how Carlton, all long lines and sharply defined edges and giving off an unmistakably chilly aura in his everyday interactions was in lovemaking so warm and supple. So completely all-encompassing. Karen wanted nothing more than to wrap herself up in him and stay there for… oh, the next day or week or month or…

"_Always_—"

She blinked and drew back, just far enough to look into his face. "What'd you say?"

"Always." The guarded expression was back, darkening the blue to a shade somewhere between slate and gray, yet unable to completely hide the emotion. Honestly, it didn't seem as if he was fighting to hide it all that hard—more that the guardedness was instinct he was fighting to overcome. "I just want to stay like this—with you—always."

Echoes of what he'd whispered to her in the throes of their lovemaking—echoes of what she'd said in return.

"I'm good with that." With another sigh, she settled herself more completely against him, breathing deep as her head found a perfect niche on his shoulder. "How is it you always smell so good?"

A quiet laugh vibrated through his chest. "You notice how I smell?"

"I notice everything about you." Even things she hadn't been consciously aware of noticing. Like how she'd already known what his touch would feel like, simply based on their fleeting contact over the years or how she'd already had a sense of what that low voice would sound like in passion, breathing her name and saying how much he wanted her.

She'd just never imagined it would actually be anything more than a late-night fantasy.

"Even after we got back from Los Padres yesterday, you somehow managed to look as fresh as if you were starting your day and hadn't just been tramping around in the rain and stuck in a car for hours."

Another one of those quiet laughs sent deliciously tempting vibrations through her. Slowly, she trailed her hand along his chest and stomach, savoring the coarseness of the hair on his chest and the smooth, skin along his side, shivering as she felt the subtle shift of muscle, his restless movements suggesting he wanted more.

"Just a quick shower in the locker room after we got back. The slight lift of his shoulder rubbed his chest against her breasts in a way that made her sigh and burrow closer. "Not sure I could have made it through the night without it, actually." He leaned back slightly, eyebrows raised. "I thought you had, too. I know you changed."

"You mean you ordered me to change—bossy," she teased, scratching her nails against his chest and feeling the stirrings of his arousal against her thigh.

"As soaked as you were and with this flu? Damned straight."

His reply was easy, completely unapologetic, and thoroughly protective. Like back in her office when he'd declared he would be bringing her home as soon as the case was over. As much as Karen hadn't wanted to case to wrap up quickly because she wanted to keep working with him, she'd nevertheless been anxious to _finish_ already, because she wanted him bringing her home. Wanted what they'd been circling around vaguely for years and more directly over the last day.

Now, she wanted more.

"I did a spot clean up and changed into clean clothes but much as I wanted one, couldn't risk a shower—I was afraid of slipping." As if on cue, her ankle began throbbing, reminding her it had been awhile since she'd taken anything.

Carlton leaned back slightly, the familiar frown carving two deep lines between his brows. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Why?" She smiled and lowered her voice. "Would you have offered to help?"

"Never would have solved the damned case then," he muttered, one eyebrow rising in what could only be described as a lascivious manner and once again, heat, liquid and slow, bloomed in her midsection. God help her, Carlton Lassiter, when relaxed and comfortable, was a flirt. The question now became how on earth was she ever going to be able to work alongside him—given that she now possessed intimate knowledge of this fact?

"Where's your bathroom?"

Bemused, she pointed toward the door in the far wall. A moment later, she found herself breathless as he pinned her to the bed with another kiss, a slow, devastating exploration while his hands stroked her from shoulders to thighs and back up.

"I'll be back in a minute."

Karen blinked, fingertips brushing the swollen, tingling surface of her lips. He was leaving her—like _this_?

"Bastard," she whispered to the long, tapering line of his back.

Pausing in the doorway, he turned to face her. "Temper, Chief," he chided, shaking a single long finger and dammit, even that was making her feel edgy and agitated, imagining what that finger along with the other nine, could do to her with more time.

They _had_ time. _Now_.

And he was leaving her? In the bed? _Alone_?

"Oh, Detective, you are _so_ going to pay."

"I sure hope so." His mouth curved in a grin that was equal parts cheeky and seductive and that had Karen's thighs rubbing together restlessly.

"God, Carlton," she moaned. In seconds, he'd crossed back to the bed, gathering her close as one of those extremely talented hands found its way between her thighs, adding the extra element of friction she so desperately needed.

It didn't take long, not with the buildup and the charged anticipation that had turned into this nearly tangible thing between them.

And as Karen lost herself to Carlton, once and then almost immediately, again, fragments of thoughts floated in and out of her mind— _Oh God, yes_ and _please, more_ and _more_ and _don't stop, please don't_—

But one kept resurfacing—

As she drew him over her, drew him deep into her with a sigh that came from nowhere she'd ever been touched before, one thought echoed with stunning clarity—

How in the hell had they _resisted_ for so long?


	9. Chapter 9

The usual disclaimers apply—no ownership in anything **psych, **TPTB have everything, I have nothing except ideas for the unlikeliest of pairings and romantic schmoop that would have no place on the actual show. Which is why we have fanfic.

More shmoop! More slightly **M**-ish rated shenanigans. And did I mention the shmoop?

* * *

_**Chapter 9**_

The lights were dim, a few candles threw flickering shadows against the wall, the water was comfortably hot, and Carlton had a beautiful woman luxuriating against him in a tub large enough to hold them both. Life was pretty damned good. Unexpectedly so, but for once, he wasn't going to question or doubt it. Cupping his hands, he scooped water and poured it over Karen's shoulders, sluicing it along her smooth, supple skin before ending up with his arms wrapped around her, waist. He obligingly tilted his head to the side as she stretched back to deliver a line of small, gentle kisses along his jaw and neck before settling against his chest with a sigh even _he_ could only interpret as contented.

They lay there, pleasantly sated if still exhausted, even after the sleep that had overtaken them after that unexpected second go round. Carlton's intention _had_ been to run the bath, get her clean and relaxed and rested before Round Two, but she'd stared at him with such clear longing darkening her eyes and those shapely thighs rubbing restlessly together and the way she'd sighed—_his _name—communicating how very much she wanted him and damn if he hadn't wanted her, too—for so long and how the hell could he resist?

He couldn't. He was just a man, after all, and he wasn't stupid, no way. Even so, he'd only intended to bring her to climax, take the edge off, _then_ run the bath, rest, etc., etc. She, however, had had other ideas. And so, Round Two. Followed by an exhausted slumber that had been interrupted by a phone call from Iris that left Karen both smiling, and blinking back tears, and Carlton holding her close afterward, murmuring comforting words and hurting for her. So strong, his Karen, doing what was necessary to protect her daughter, no matter the cost to her.

Which left _him_, to take care of her.

Still, though, relaxing as a couple hours' of sleep and the bath, not to mention the lovemaking had been, it wasn't anywhere near enough. They both needed a lot more rest.

Wonder if anyone would notice if they didn't show up for work for the next week or two?

Not that they'd get a lot of _physical_ rest, per se, but at least they'd be in a bed.

"What happened with Marlowe?"

Her voice was quiet and certain—completely lacking in censure or defensiveness, soothing his natural inclinations toward the same. Understanding was tacit and the trust was complete—she knew he wouldn't even be here with her if Marlowe was still a factor.

"It got to be too real."

With one hand he slicked her wet hair back from her face. She'd allowed him to wash it earlier—had allowed him to carefully wash every inch of her, learning her in ways more sensual than sexual, but that would most assuredly reap rather pleasurable benefits for both of them in the future. Very near future, he suspected. The longheld attraction had been let out of its cage and didn't seem inclined to be pushed back in and why the hell would he even want to try to force it? Making love to Karen had fulfilled every fantasy he'd ever had and even some he hadn't yet conceived of. And they'd only just gotten started.

One of her hands stroked his thigh—again, more sensual and soothing than overt. It had the effect of making him feel cared for. Cherished, even.

"Buying the condo, ostensibly for her, having her help with the case to effect an earlier release—they were steps that brought Marlowe closer to becoming a reality rather than this ideal I'd built her up into. When it came down to it though, it wasn't the reality I wanted."

"Why not?"

He grasped her chin and gently tilted her head far enough to be able look into her eyes—losing himself in the deep brown with their flickering gold reflections of the candle flames —certain, yet again, he'd made the right decision. The only decision.

"Because life with Marlowe would have been a substitution for the life—the woman—I really wanted."

Her eyes widened. "You could have had me," she whispered. "Long ago."

"Could I? Really?" He tightened his hold, reluctant to let her go, now that he finally did have her. "Karen, you know as well as I do that it was probably always going to take some sort of extraordinary circumstance to make this happen. We've both been pretty tightly bound by our roles—by the expectations." He released a shaky breath. "I was too tightly held by my past screw ups—personally and professionally—to take that sort of risk. Especially with you."

She nuzzled her cheek against his jaw, her words emerging muffled and shaky. "We came too close to missing each other."

"Hey… no—it's okay." He stroked her arm, soothing the faint tremors he felt shaking her body despite the warmth of the bath water and the heat that was a constant between them. "I don't think that would have happened either."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Because we lead pretty extraordinary lives, when you think about it." Carlton smiled against the top of Karen's head before pressing a kiss to it, breathing deep of the vanilla-scented shampoo with which he'd washed her hair.

"_Something_ was bound to happen at some point."

"I'm not sure a flu epidemic counts as extraordinary."

He chuckled at her dry tone. "It's certainly not an everyday occurrence."

"Thank _God_. Although in this case, considering the outcome, I'll take it."

With a sigh, she resettled her back against his chest and closed her eyes, smiling faintly. It was the presence of that smile—satisfied, content, with maybe a hint of predatory around the edges, suggesting she wasn't anywhere near done with him—that suffused him with a titillating combination of satisfaction and anticipation. Overlaying both, however, was an overall sense of security. Without her saying anything, he knew this wasn't just a one-time thing. Not only had she already said as much, but the discovery of his medallion around her neck and her subsequent confession served as proof he'd been with her, every day, for far longer than he might have imagined.

_So ask, jackass…_

"Who left?"

Her fingers played along his arm briefly before coming to rest over his clasped hands on her stomach. "Cliché as it sounds, we left each other—but when it came down to it, I'm the one who ended it."

Karen rolled and shifted, her knees coming to rest on either side of his thighs and once again, Carlton found himself grateful for the unexpected presence of the oversized jetted tub in her bathroom. She used it to relax after especially long and trying days, she'd admitted with a raised eyebrow that implied what, exactly, "relaxation" might entail and had had him asking if it could be expanded to include a second party.

She'd replied she sure hoped so.

"It wasn't fair to him—" Carlton's breath caught at the pressure of her thighs against his, the feel of her hands on his shoulders, drifting down his arms to grasp his hands. But what really made it impossible to draw a full breath was the look in her eyes—the ferocity and sheer honesty as she quietly said, "He wasn't who I wanted anymore."

She bit her lip, looking uncertain for the first time. "Do you hate me?"

"What?" His eyebrows rose. "_No_. Why?"

"I was married, Carlton—I had a child and—"

"And hard as it had to have been, you did what was right for you. And Iris, too." He looked away, staring past the flickering candles and their dim reflections in the mirror. "It's hell growing up in a loveless house, Karen. Trust me." With a hard shake, he banished the demons that had no place here—or anywhere in his life. Not anymore. Cupping her face he gently asked, "When?"

"I suspected when Salamatchia was trying to kill you," she admitted softly, holding his gaze. Even in the candlelight, he could see the flush rising, traveling from her chest, up to her face. "But it was the clock tower that bought everything into full focus—"

"That fucking clock tower," he broke in with an impatient sigh, experiencing anew the frustration and terror—the absolute fury. "_That_ was actually the closest I've ever come to hating you."

Oh, _God_—what the hell had he just said?

What if he'd just screwed up? He couldn't screw up. Not this time—not this woman.

"Karen, I didn't mean—it's not what you think—"

She pressed gentle fingers to his lips, stilling the flood of stupid, inadequate words. "It's okay." Her other hand stroked his side, soothing his agitation, even as her thighs rubbed restlessly against his, suggesting inner turmoil on her part as well. "I kind of hated you then, too. And God forgive me, I was so jealous of O'Hara, I could barely see straight."

"Jealous?" Steady, cool, unflappable Karen Vick? She'd been absolutely steely during that case—making the hard decisions, even if they hadn't been the right ones, as far as he was concerned.

Lips pressed together, she nodded, radiating misery. "The lengths you were willing to go to for her…the way you outright defied me. Your willingness to sacrifice your career—your _life—_for her if necessary. I thought for sure you were in love with her and I hated both of you so damned much."

His muscles finally began relaxing from the anxiety holding them hostage. Stroking from her thighs to her waist, he gazed into her lovely face—soaking in the maturity and experience and everything else that made her more than a match for him. His equal in so many ways. Everything he'd been missing all this time.

"In love? No," he replied, "One hopeless infatuation was more than enough, thanks." He released a long breath. "She's my _partner_." At his meaningful glance, she nodded. He knew she understand that bond—after the last twenty-four hours, in particular, understood what it meant to him.

"She's also been the closest thing to a best friend I've ever had. I couldn't have you, Karen and there you were, trying to tell me I had to sacrifice O'Hara, as well? It just wasn't going to happen."

A short laugh escaped. "Of course, the irony is, I don't even really have O'Hara as a partner anymore. Not the way we were back then. Or as a friend." His hands slid from her waist around to her back and try as he might, he couldn't quite suppress their slight trembling.

"But now I have you." He gazed into her eyes, hoping again he wasn't completely screwing things up—that he hadn't completely misread, hell—everything. "Don't I?"

"God, yes. You've got me." Very slowly, she leaned forward, stretching her body out so she was draped completely over him, her head nestled in the crook of his neck. The feel of her, skin-to-skin, the still-hot water enveloping both was at once soothing and intensely erotic and left him struggling to concentrate on her words.

"I was so certain I'd missed my opportunity," she murmured, her voice vibrating against his skin in a warm, sensuous rumble, adding another layer of intensity. "I'd been a coward, waited too long, and then it seemed as if you were beyond my reach. And now, against all odds, you're here, with me, in my arms, and I'll be damned if I'm letting you go anytime soon, Carlton Lassiter."

"This is going to make work so damned difficult." He rested his hands on her backside, adjusting her to a more favorable position, groaning softly as he felt her against his hardness, even hotter and wetter than the bath water.

"Why?" she gasped, grasping his shoulders and undulating in a way that sent stars streaking across his vision. "Our partnership was temporary and your tenure as Head Detective predates mine as Chief, so it's not as if anyone can point fingers and cry nepotism."

"No," he groaned, tightening his fingers on her soft flesh, not caring whether he was leaving bruises or not. Actually, he kind of hoped he was and couldn't even be bothered to care how Neanderthal that sounded. "I mean, work's going to be difficult if I can't pry myself off you."

"Oh—" A sly grin crossed her face, punctuated with another undulation that sent water lapping across his skin in another devastating layer of sensation. "That."

"Yes—" He grasped her hips, lifting her just far enough for her to reach between them and guide him into position. "That," he sighed as she sank down on him, completing their connection. Making him feel complete.

Everything about her—her hands on his face, her mouth to his, opening, inviting him in to taste and to explore—was part of him now. Following a trail of water down her neck, pausing briefly to suck hard at the base of her neck, making himself part of her. Her hands roamed across his shoulders and down his chest, as she pressed her body to his, her nipples brushing his in tantalizing caresses. She moved on him with sinuous grace, inviting him to brace himself against the tub and thrust harder, feeling her hold him even more closely in the most intimate of embraces, the splashing of the water not nearly enough to drown out her fervent whispers of how she wasn't letting him go—she couldn't.

Leaning back she gazed intently into his face, the question in those wide brown eyes clear and breaking his heart.

He'd never been wanted so damned much.

He'd never wanted so much.

He gathered her close, their bodies moving together—slow, sensual thrusts keeping them closely knit together, intense and deep and once his mouth found hers, as close as he could imagine ever being to another human—breath and body and heart. As he felt her shuddering around him, prompting his own release, he whispered the answer to her silent question.

"I love you."


	10. Chapter 10

The usual disclaimers apply—no ownership in anything **psych, **TPTB have everything, I have nothing except ideas for the unlikeliest of pairings and romantic schmoop that would have no place on the actual show.

However, today, we have The Angst.

* * *

_**Chapter 10**_

Karen fought through the fog, desperately trying to discover the source of the buzzing so she could make it _stop_, for God's sake.

_Answer it, already._

_Answer, wha—?_

_Phone, idiot. Answer it._

Groaning as she recognized the source of the buzzing, she groped, eyes still squeezed shut, in the futile hopes that the buzzing would stop and she could drift back to sleep, nestled comfortably within Carlton's embrace. Mmm… Carlton's embrace. Yes.

Finally, her fingers curled around her cell's smooth surface, the rhythmic buzzing tingling against her palm.

"Karen Vick," she muttered, awake now, but with a distinctively muzzy, I-was-asleep-and-I'm-not-happy-to-be-awake, tone.

"Uh… Chief?"

"Yes—" Years on the job as a cop and a mother had already banished the muzziness. Karen propped herself up on an elbow, shoving her hair from her face. "What is it, O'Hara?"

A pause, then O'Hara, delicately, it sounded, said, "I… was calling Carlton."

Fully awake now, Karen quickly pulled the phone away from her ear, noting that a) it was just past seven in the morning and b) and _definitely_ more pertinent, it was Carlton's phone. Carlton's—not hers.

_Oh crap._

For the first time in her entire career, instinct abandoned her, leaving her floundering for an answer. Before she could formulate a response—any response—that would justify her answering Carlton's phone, she found her hand empty. Behind her, the mattress shifted, as Carlton sat up.

"What is it, O'Hara?"

_Oh **crap**._

His response was alert, but like her, his voice held the distinct note of just having been woken.

"Please don't take offense, O'Hara, but I believe that falls under the heading of none of your business," he responded, remarkably calmly, to his partner's obvious question, free hand raking through his hair.

Despite the panic sending her heart rate into decidedly not-safe territory, Karen couldn't help but feel that increasingly familiar pool of warmth low in her belly at the sight of him, in her bed, nude beneath the sheet pulled to his waist, black-and-silver hair disheveled, and altogether looking incredibly sexy and sleep-warm and _so_ damned tempting. She could _almost_ set aside the panic that they'd already been discovered. Almost.

"Can it wait?"

Dammit, though, she'd wanted more time. More time for them to be alone—for it to be just them. Time to savor what he'd said to her—what she felt in return—before the rest of the world came barging in with their inevitable questions and assumptions and faint accusations.

"Okay, I'll be there in a half hour. No. I don't think so. That ankle's still giving her grief, plus she's been pushing herself hard the last couple of weeks. I'd rather not have to call her in unless it becomes absolutely necessary."

Karen stared at Carlton, slack-jawed, as he ended the call and tossed the phone to the night table with an impatient sigh.

"Dammit." He sighed again and turned to reach for her, but froze, eyes widening slightly as she flinched away.

"Did you…" Her throat closed, making the next words emerge sounding vaguely strangled. "Just speak for _me_?"

His brows drew together in the patented Detective Lassiter frown with which she was all-too-familiar. "No."

"Really?" She swallowed. "Because it sure as hell sounded like you did."

"Settle down, Karen—" He pushed himself to a more erect sitting position, the sheet falling further away and revealing the long line of his thigh and an enticing shadow beyond and dammit, did he have to look so damned approachable and… and… _sexy_?

"I can assure you had O'Hara reached me at home, _alone_, I would have said the same thing." He shoved both hands through his hair. "And if it was something that I felt demanded your attention, I would have said so and would have called you myself. Or," he added with a half-smile that deepened the mellow blue satisfaction in his eyes, "in this case, would have just told you."

"Why did she call you in the first place?" she demanded, fighting back a rising tide of panic and fine, white-hot pinpricks of irritation whose source she didn't really want examine too closely.

"Because she's my partner," he replied patiently, "and because she wanted my opinion as to whether or not you needed to be called in."

It made sense. She knew it made sense. It was a perfectly acceptable use of the chain of command—O'Hara had been left in charge, Carlton was both her partner and Head Detective, it made sense she'd consult him and defer to his decision before bringing Karen into the mix. There was no reason for her to be getting so increasingly agitated, was there? Not really. No. Not at all, except for oh, dear _God_, they'd been found out.

"Why did you take the phone from me?"

Now his eyebrows rose, climbing toward his hairline. "Uh, because it's my phone?"

"I could have made something up. Said you left it by accident after you dropped me off. But taking it from me the way you did and sounding the way you did and O'Hara asked, didn't she? She asked what you were doing with me. She knows you were… you know, _with_ me. Oh, hell, she knows."

Her voice rose in pitch and grew more breathless as the words spilled out and she knew she needed to stop. She was overreacting and panicking, but they hadn't had a chance to plan. Hadn't had a chance to discuss how they were going to address their new relationship because it was a relationship, wasn't it? It was. He'd said he loved her and she believed him. She'd felt it.

And oh, Jesus, she hadn't said it back—not yet. Not because she didn't feel the same, because she did, and he _knew_ she felt the same, didn't he? He had to know. He had to have felt it, in her embrace, as she held him close, intimate and deep, looking into his eyes, seeing everything in the shimmering blue depths.

Those same eyes were staring at her as she babbled, turned an opaque glacier blue that grew colder the more she let loose.

"She doesn't know anything, Karen, because I didn't _say_ anything."

"You said it was none of her business—that was as good as an admission."

"So what?" he snapped. "It's still none of her business and I'm certainly not telling tales out of school. That's not my style."

No, she knew that, too, but—

But…

The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose as his gaze flickered away, revealing something more. Something a little darker that caused panic to recede, a cool anger taking its place.

"You like that, don't you?" she asked quietly.

"What?" But again, his gaze flickered and she knew she'd hit the nail on the head.

"You like that you can tell her it's none of her business," she said slowly, watching him carefully. "That you can shut her out of a part of your life the same way she shut you out when she took up with Spencer."

Color streaked across his prominent cheekbones. "It wouldn't be any of her business regardless," he said tightly. "I've never been one to share much about my personal life. You know that."

"But you've shared more with her than with anyone else, Carlton." Taking a deep breath, she forced a gentle note to her voice. "Like you said, she was your best friend. Up until she began dating Spencer, you did share quite a bit with her."

Once again, those white-hot pinpricks rippled across her skin, leaving her uncomfortably aware.

She stared unseeingly past him. "If I hadn't answered your phone, how long would it have taken you to say anything about us, Carlton?"

A heavy silence permeated the room before being blown apart by his explosive, "_Me_?" Pure outrage colored his tone, coating each word with frost. "Excuse me, but I'm not the one who was sitting here having kittens because O'Hara—what was it you said—" One eyebrow rose almost mockingly. "Knew I was _with_ you?"

Throwing back the sheet, he stalked across the room, picking up discarded bits of clothing from where they lay scattered across the floor. Even with the sure knowledge that her momentary panic—because it _was_ momentary and already fading—and yes, jealousy had driven her to say exceedingly stupid things, Karen couldn't help but admire his nude form, graceful, even in his anger. Dammit, she wanted him back in bed, with _her_ right now, whatever case was dragging him back be damned.

But that wasn't going to happen, was it?

Miserable, she watched as he jerked on boxers and slacks, and shoved his arms through the sleeves of his shirt. All of a sudden, the head of steam which had propelled him appeared to dissipate, leaving him standing in the middle of the room, staring at her.

"How long would it have taken you, Karen?"

"I—"

He barreled on, as if she hadn't started to speak. "Would you have ever said anything at all? Or was this just a matter of scratching an itch?"

"_What?_"

He shrugged, a familiar iciness coloring the gesture. "I know you're not going to deny the attraction between us—how long it was there—but maybe that's all it was. Wondering what it would be like. And now you know." His expression was set in stone, his eyes gone from glacier blue to a flinty gray.

"You know everything." Softer. "And I don't know a damned thing."

"Bullshit." Fury launched her from the bed to stand in front of him, hands on her fists, not caring that she was nude while he was in effect fully clothed. "You know everything, too. Or you should."

"No." He shook his head, refusing to look her in the eye. "No, I don't. I don't play guessing games, Karen. Too many years of trying to figure out what the hell Victoria was thinking, what any woman was thinking, and guessing wrong every damned time cured me of that. I need to be told."

Now he met her gaze and what Karen saw reflected back at her made her even angrier—on his behalf because of all those past heartbreaks and at him, because he was being so damnably stupid. Didn't he understand she felt the same way? How could he not understand?

Her fists clenched in frustration

Yet how could she say it _now_?

"Have you completely forgotten everything I said to you?" She reached back to the night table where he'd placed her medallion after carefully slipping it off before their bath, and held it between them. "What _this_ means to me? What you mean to me?"

"No, I haven't forgotten," he shot back, "But what did you say, really?"

"I said everything that was in my heart, Carlton." Her throat ached under the unaccustomed strain of raising her voice. She so rarely had to, even with Iris, yet here she was, on the verge of screaming. "I said everything."

"No." Carlton shook his head, the expression in his eyes bleak. "Not everything."

Karen felt the bite of the medallion against her skin as she clenched her fist. How the hell had everything gone so wrong, so fast?

What had she done, by virtue of the simple fact that she'd been so damned overwhelmed in that moment, she couldn't even speak?

Why hadn't she said anything afterward? Because she'd been so certain he _knew_?

_With what you know of this man, does his insecurity really surprise you? Idiot._

"You know—" Carlton bent his head, ostensibly studying his hands as he buttoned his shirt. "When you made that crack about your neighbors seeing me carrying you into the house and thinking you'd eloped…"

His voice faltered, right in time with Karen's heartbeat, it felt.

"It's stupid and it's totally not like me." A harsh laugh escaped. "But I actually allowed myself to dream—for just a second."

"Carlton—" She _wanted_ to say it—needed to—but he'd never believe her now.

And it was entirely her fault.

"If we can spare a uniform, I'll have them bring your car back. If not, I'll have someone pick you up in the morning." His narrow mouth thinned into a stark line. "You should definitely take the day—tape that ankle up and rest it. O'Hara and I can hold down the fort."

The message was clear.

_I need space. I need to not see you right now because you hurt me._

Twin flashes of anger and remorse shot through Karen. Remorse because she hadn't meant to hurt him. She would _never_ intentionally hurt him. Dear God, she loved him. She'd loved him for so damned long—maybe even longer than she'd imagined. She had simply thought she'd have more time to tell him—that she'd have all the time because they were finally together and she wasn't planning on letting him go any time soon.

Anger—because he didn't trust her enough to prove she wasn't like the others.

And judging by the expression on his face as he quietly closed the bedroom door behind himself, he didn't seem inclined to give her another chance.

Slowly, she sank to the edge of the bed, staring down at the familiar lines of St. Michael, gazing serenely up at her from his protective shield. For a brief moment, Carlton's visage overlaid that of the saint, staring up her in faintly accusatory fashion before dissolving back into the form of the archangel. With a sigh, she slipped it over her head, sighing again as it fell into its place against her heart.

_Come on, Karen—who are you really angry at?_

_Carlton?_

_Or yourself?_


	11. Chapter 11

The usual disclaimers apply—no ownership in anything **psych, **TPTB have everything, I have nothing except ideas for the unlikeliest of pairings and romantic schmoop that would have no place on the actual show. Which is why we have fanfic.

* * *

_**Chapter 11**_

_Step 1: Open mouth._

_Step 2: Insert foot._

_Step 3: (v. important) Chew expensive, yet practical because better quality stands up longer to hard day-to-day wear, shoe leather. Chew vigorously._

_Step 4: Repeat as needed until one has completely and irrevocably fucked up the best thing one has ever had. Will ever have._

"Hey, Carlton."

Carlton glanced over the rim of his coffee mug at O'Hara, standing beside his desk, back in a professional suit and looking far better than when he'd last seen her the day before.

God, was it only the day before?

Felt like a lifetime.

"O'Hara," he replied steadily. He nodded at the folder she held. "Those the files?"

"Uh—" She glanced down at the manila folder as if she'd forgotten she was even holding it. "Yeah. Um, Carlton?"

"I meant it when I said it was none of your business, O'Hara."

A twinge of shame that only marginally had to do with the flash of hurt crossing O'Hara's face, vibrated through him. Karen hadn't been wrong. Natural inclinations toward privacy and a deep desire to want to keep what he and Karen had to themselves for just a while longer aside, he'd taken definite pleasure in cutting O'Hara off at the pass.

But it had only been momentary.

And at what cost?

O'Hara placed the folder in his outstretched hand. "Cold case from a couple of years ago. Jewelry store robberies. Looks like they might be back. Taking advantage of the epidemic and the fact that most security firms and the police are operating on shoestring staffs."

He nodded as he set down his mug and began thumbing through the file. Definitely appeared to be the same crew. Extremely adept at using explosives in very direct and precise measures to break into stores and safes and exceedingly efficient in that they got what they wanted and got out quick. They didn't completely clean out stores—just went for the highest ticket items, which suggested they had an expert or some sort of insider.

"Call Guster," he finally said. "He's got the extensive safe knowledge. Find out what he knows about the safes involved in these cases. I can't imagine that explosives would be necessary for all of them. There's got to be a reason the thieves opt to use them every time."

"You know that means involving Shawn," she said carefully.

"If we're lucky, maybe he's at death's door," Carlton replied, handing the file back to O'Hara and dropping into his chair with a tired sigh. "Just call Guster directly. See if you can talk to just him and get him to not blab to his idiot best friend. Appeal to his ego. Let him have the spotlight for once."

"I'll do my best." She started to turn away then paused. "I'm surprised, but I… hope you're happy," she said very softly.

Dammit. It would have been so much easier if she'd been angry. Belligerent. Betrayed at being shut out. She was probably _beyond_ surprised, but she was letting him know, in her own O'Hara sort of way, that she'd wait until he was ready to talk.

"I would have been," he admitted quietly.

Guess he was ready.

"Come again?" she said, dropping into the chair beside his desk.

"We, uh…" He stared down into his mug, swirling the khaki remnants at the bottom. "We kind of had an argument."

To put it mildly.

"Oh, I'm sorry." O'Hara's wince communicated that she understood "argument" to be an understatement. With typical O'Hara optimism she added, "But you know, Carlton, arguments aren't insurmountable."

No. Most weren't.

Then again, most didn't involve him and his unerring ability to say the worst possible thing. React in the worst possible ways.

"This one may have contained some deal-breaker elements," he admitted. Like accusing the woman you loved of simply using you for what amounted to essentially a one-night stand when he knew that was the furthest thing from the truth.

She was right. She'd told him everything.

Except _the_ most important thing, dammit. She'd had multiple opportunities and hadn't been able to bring herself to say the words. Fresh indignation flooded through him. He'd all but cut his heart out and laid it out for her. Why hadn't she said it?

Beside him, O'Hara sighed. "Who was the idiot?"

"Who?" Carlton's eyebrows rose. "You're not assuming it was me?"

She cocked her head and fixed that penetrating dark-blue gaze on him. "Why would I?"

"Because I'm me?"

"Yeah, and I've been your partner for going on seven years now. I know you." She crossed her arms. "And for you, Carlton, to have gotten involved with our boss, with _your_ history, means you have some pretty deep feelings there, partner. And I'm not even going to go into how the Chief must feel about you to have taken this step. To say it's uncharacteristic of both of you would be putting it mildly and leaves the probability of who the idiot was pretty equal."

Carlton sat, stunned, at O'Hara's blunt assessment.

And considered her question. No, Karen hadn't said what he most needed her to say. She'd flipped out when he'd taken the phone from her and made it clear to O'Hara that yes, he and Karen were together, which he _could_ have handled with a bit more finesse, admittedly, but he'd given into that damned impulse to get back at O'Hara and on which Karen had rightfully nailed him. And he'd had to go and lash out. Refused to see what was right in front of him.

Still though, Carlton couldn't help but wonder how long it would have taken Karen to say anything about them. She'd panicked so quickly and so thoroughly and yet was it really unjustified given _his_ behavior?

A sinking sensation overtook him as he recalled everything she'd said. About how his tenure as Head Detective predated hers as Chief, hence there could be no finger-pointing or cries of favoritism.

How he could have had her. Long ago.

How she'd sighed and curled into his arms at his admission of "always."

How she'd agreed.

How she claimed she had no intention of letting him go.

"Carlton?"

He rubbed his temples. "We were both sort of idiotic," he said slowly, "but it's entirely likely I was the more idiotic of us."

"Huh." With that single unintelligible syllable, O'Hara stood, rapping the folder against his desk. "So what are you still doing here, then?"

He stared up at her. "My job?"

She blinked, dark blue eyes wide and guileless. Carlton knew that look. Knew how effectively O'Hara wielded it. Knew enough to be nervous to have it directed at him.

"I don't think you should be here, Carlton." A bit louder, her voice carrying, she added, "You have been working a lot the past few weeks and out in the rain the way you were the other day? I'd say the flushed feeling and body aches are just the beginning."

As suspicious glances were directed their way, she grasped his arm with one hand and his jacket with the other. Steering his bemused form down the hall towards the entrance she quietly said, "Even a mild case of this flu will take you out at the minimum, five days. More people are finally starting to trickle back to work, the epidemic seems to be tapering off. You and the Chief are practically the only two who haven't been taken out by this thing—you both worked through that storm the other day—trust me, no one's going to question both of you being out at the same time."

O'Hara was giving him a free pass. More than he deserved. But still—a long-honed sense of responsibility kicked in.

"O'Hara—I'm not sick."

She stopped by the front doors and pulled him aside. "You will be if you don't fix this," she hissed. Shoving his jacket into his hands she said in an urgent tone, "Look, I would have never seen it coming—not in a million years, but damn if it doesn't make the most perfect sense." With a rueful shake of her head she added, "Carlton, you guys—you're perfect for each other. And if Chief Vick is feeling anywhere near as miserable as you looked this morning—"

In a flash, Carlton recalled the sight of Karen, standing, naked, in more ways than one, clutching the medallion she claimed was a part of her—that made _him_ part of her—every day.

He met his partner's gaze. "Thanks, O'Hara." He started to shove the door open, then paused. "I get now, why you didn't say anything. When you and Spencer—"

"You weren't completely wrong about why we didn't. Or at least, why _I _didn't." O'Hara smiled and shrugged. "I mean, yes, part of it was because it was new and it was ours and we just wanted to keep it that way for awhile, but if I'm completely honest, the bigger issue on my end had to do with you and how you'd feel about it." She sighed "I knew you'd hate it and maybe, you might hate me."

"I could never hate you."

He couldn't say he was sorry about reacting the way he had because to his mind, she'd handled it badly, but he could admit, in his own way, that he had, too.

Given how she smiled, she got it.

"Go on, now," she urged. "Go be deathly ill for at least five days. I've got this covered."

Okay—he'd been altruistic once. He wasn't strong enough to refuse the offer twice. "All right." He nevertheless felt compelled to add, "If you do need us, though—"

"I'll call," she assured him. "Probably your phone first, so make sure it's closer to you, okay? Now would you _go_, already?"

With a laugh, he pushed through the doors and stopped, stock still, at the sight that greeted him.

"_Karen_—"

Casually dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, gripping the handrail and grimacing as she slowly worked her way up the stairs. Even from this distance, he could see the beads of sweat dotting her upper lip and the pained pallor beneath the flush of exertion.

"Carlton," she sighed, so softly and yet, he still heard her. Loud and clear and deep within, where it counted.

In a few bounds, he'd reached her, slipping an arm around her waist. "What are you doing here?"

"I know you told me not to come in, but I'm not built that way," she gasped. "First off, as your boss, I make that call, you got it? And second—" She paused and gazed up at him with that light in her deep brown gaze that he knew from this point on would always be able to slay him. "As the woman who loves you, I couldn't let you spend any longer than you absolutely had to under the very mistaken impression that I don't."

Carlton was vaguely aware of the odd personnel walking past, casting curious gazes their way. He was far more aware of how Karen leaned even more fully into him, her free hand grasping his, right there, out in the open, her expression so revealing of her feelings, a man would have to be blind to miss it.

Or an idiot.

He swallowed hard. "You really shouldn't be out and about."

As her expression fell, he leaned in and murmured, "And neither should I. This flu's a real bitch and neither of us need to be around other people. Especially now that people are finally starting to recover."

She blinked slowly, comprehension dawning. "Both of us?"

He nodded. "Takes at least five days to work its way through the system."

"Five days, huh?"

Heat shot through his midsection and worked its way further down at the sultry golden light shimmering in her eyes. Still, though, like him, she possessed a strong streak of responsibility that momentarily cleared the passion. Shaking her head she murmured, "We really shouldn't—"

"Yes, Karen, we really, really should," he broke in. "Please?" he asked softly, prepared to defer to whatever she wanted.

For a long, breathless moment she stared up at him, then very deliberately shifted her hand in his, lacing their fingers together as she tilted her head back slightly. In clear invitation.

He didn't even bother to pause to see who was around. He didn't _care_ who was around. All he cared about was the woman in his arms and what she wanted.

As his mouth touched hers, he felt, rather than heard, her soft, "I love you, Carlton."

Apparently, she wanted him.

After a soft, gentle kiss holding the promise of so much more, she made one more whispered request.

"Now take me home so we can get over the _flu_ together."

He grinned as he met her gaze, definitely prepared to defer to _everything_ she wanted.


	12. Chapter 12

The usual disclaimers apply—no ownership in anything **psych, **TPTB have everything, I have nothing except ideas for the unlikeliest of pairings and romantic schmoop that would have no place on the actual show. Which is why we have fanfic.

Okay, folks—final chapter. Sorry it took so long to get it up, but hopefully, worth the wait.

Warning—**M-**rated territory ahead folks. Figured if I made you wait, I'd at least make it worthwhile.

* * *

_**Chapter 12**_

Karen smiled to herself at the knowledge of which she was in sole possession.

Her.

No one else.

Because for damned sure Victoria Parker—and she _would_ forever remain Parker in Karen's mind since, as far as she was concerned, the woman had abdicated any right to the Lassiter name—had never discovered this delicious fact about Carlton. For the simple fact she'd never taken the time to. Because if she had—how on earth could she have ever let him go?

So yeah, Karen was reasonably certain she was the only woman in the world who knew that Carlton Lassiter could be reduced to a puddle of near-incoherent goo from the simple act of stroking his back.

His long, leanly-muscled, lightly-freckled, amazingly sensitive, and altogether lovely back.

Not a massage or a rubdown, not that he was averse to either as she'd also discovered, but stroking. Short circular strokes with the pads of her fingers along the base of his neck and along his lower back, gentle walking strokes outlining each individual vertebra, and the real humdinger, the long, light strokes, from shoulder to hip, over and over, that made the sensitive skin of her palms tingle with warmth and reduced him to a near-incoherent puddle of goo.

Her, too, really, if only from the self-discipline it took to keep the stroking to his back and not allow her hands to wander further south. _That_ had to be timed just right, because once she ventured into that territory, near-incomprehensible goo turned to ferocious intent in a hurry.

Not that that was a _bad_ thing, mind.

"God, Karen, that feels so good."

His voice was a sleepy, sensuous rumble—enough to draw Karen from her thoughts and spark renewed heat. Maybe she _would_ be venturing further south—sooner rather than later.

"_You_ feel good," she murmured, bending down to ghost a kiss along the nape of his neck, relishing the feel of the soft cropped hair against her lips. His full-body shiver prompted her to do it once more before leaning back on her knees, the backs of her fingers trailing along either side of his spine to the small indentations at his waist. There, she stopped, turning her hands over and spanning as much of his lower back as she could on her way back up to his shoulders, resisting the lure of his firm buttocks and strong thighs. It was tough, because Lord, the man a wonder to touch, _everywhere, _but this was important—making Carlton feel good simply for the sake of feeling good.

Taking care of him.

So few people ever had.

Karen understood his prickly nature didn't tend to inspire cuddly thoughts or a desire to pamper, but she also understood, especially after four straight days spent together and mostly naked, how that prickly nature was more protective armor, developed over long years and too many disappointments. Behind that armor, though, was a man who craved physical contact and affection.

And love.

With a deep sigh she stretched her body over his, her curves fitting seamlessly to his harder lines. Her breasts pressed into his back, her hands found his, and her head nestled into the curve of his neck.

"I love you."

His sigh lifted his back, his skin rubbing sensuously against hers. "I seriously do not understand why or how, but for once in my suspicious, paranoid life, I'm not inclined to question my good fortune." His chuckle rumbled through his back and into her chest, making her shiver in response. "Or your possible insanity."

"We've gone over this, Carlton—I am not insane." She sank her teeth into the curve of his shoulder, sucking until she felt him tense beneath her. Easing off, she soothed the skin with her tongue, feeling a sense of pride as she surveyed the irregular red mark. Her mark. She'd left several of them on him over the course of the past four days, her favorite being the one in the sensitive hollow between hip and groin. He'd paid her back in kind, leaving a rather impressive mark in the same place on her body.

What had followed after…

It was the most use her formal dining room table had seen in years. Definitely the most enjoyable.

"I'm just very, very sure."

He turned his head, eyes open and so very blue. "Me, too," he murmured, lifting his head to capture her mouth with his. So amazing. Even after four—technically five—straight days and countless kisses, each one felt new. Made her breath catch at how hot and perfect his mouth felt against hers, his tongue devastating in its explorations. He'd mapped her entire body slowly and oh-so-thoroughly with that insistent mouth and tongue, gradually driving her insane, pleasuring her more completely than anyone ever had, bringing her to climax time and again, and yet…

And yet…

Somehow, every time he kissed her felt like the first time. Full of wonder and discovery and _oh-my-God-do-I-finally-really-have-you-in-my-arms_.

"I love you, Karen," he breathed, carefully rolling beneath her so she now lay flush over the front of his body.

Not a bad thing at _all_.

After several more leisurely kisses, she dropped her head to his shoulder, content, for the moment, to just rest there—breathing him in. Letting anticipation build as he took his turn stroking her back, long, slow caresses, although he exhibited no hesitation in taking his explorations further, venturing over her buttocks and down her thighs.

Yet another benefit to those long arms.

"Carlton?"

"Yeah?"

She squirmed, desperate for more… everything, yet wanting to ask him this… one… thing…

"Baby, _please_—"

"Yes?" Humor filled the single drawled syllable. The type of mocking humor she might be tempted to slap him for in a normal everyday interaction.

Of the clothed variety, that was.

Swallowing hard, she reached back and grasped his wrists, bringing them by his head and pinning them to the pillow.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked in a too-innocent voice, eyes glinting with a wicked glee that turned them the brilliant blue of a perfect, cloudless Santa Barbara day. God, she loved that she could do that to him.

"No, damn you," she growled, lowering her head for a hard kiss. That turned into two… and three… as her hold on his wrists turned into gripping his hands tightly, feeling as if she might float away.

The nature of the kisses changed, gentled, as if he sensed she needed to catch her breath, to draw back—but not too far, as his hold shifted, one arm wrapped loosely around her back. Holding her close.

Brushing her hair back with his free hand he asked, "What is it?"

She smiled, holding his face in her hands. Studied anew every feature she'd already committed to memory.

"You remember what I said about you carrying me into the house that first day?"

The familiar furrow appeared between his brows as he answered with a hesitant, "Yes."

Against her chest, she felt his heart racing—matching hers.

"You want to do it for real?"

The furrow disappeared as his brows rose, eyes widening. "You… want to get married?"

Slowly, she nodded.

"Like… now?"

"Now, tomorrow—whenever." She lifted a shoulder. "Sooner would be preferable to later, because what I want most in the world, Carlton Lassiter, is to be married to you."

He stared up at her, eyes huge and startlingly blue. Amidst the shock and confusion swirling through them, she saw the glimmers of that hope she'd spotted their first night together. That there might be something good out there for him, despite years of disappointment.

She couldn't promise there wouldn't be other disappointments in the future, but she could damn well promise they'd face them together. That she'd do her damnedest to never disappoint him again.

A long, heartfelt sigh lifted his chest, the coarse hair rubbing her breasts in an erotic caress she had just long enough to savor before he drew her head down for another kiss. Another first time, this one full of a new possessiveness and urgency. In a swift move, he flipped them over, kissing her, tongue insistent, hands roving everywhere. But when she would have arched up, tried to capture him and bring him into her, he stilled her, one hand on her abdomen as he trailed kisses down her neck, around each breast, his tongue leaving damp, fiery trails that cooled rapidly, drawing her nipples to hard points that he teased again and again.

His hands replaced his mouth as he continued to forge a trail south, across her abdomen, ranging from one hip to the other, teeth nipping at the bruise he'd left, the sensitive skin stinging in all the best ways.

Karen gasped and sighed, one hand buried in the thick waves of his hair as the other reached back to grab the headboard and hang on for the ride. Her calves rubbed restlessly at his shoulders as he shifted to work the insides of her thighs, his hands holding them open when the sensation almost got to be too much. And that was _before_ he hit the ultimate target, making her cry out his name.

Along with, _please _and _oh God_ and _yes_ and _don't stop, please… don't stop_. Directions he enthusiastically followed that resulted in a back-arching, mind-bending climax that left her breathless and shaking and clawing at his shoulders, pleading "_Carlton, please_," with an entirely different, yet no-less desperate intent.

As he sank into her with a grateful sigh, she wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding tight, moving with him in a rhythm that was just right and yet not quite enough, prompting her to roll them over. Astride him, she moved in long, luxurious undulations, her breasts brushing his chest, leaving them feeling tingly and heavy. The heat built again, prompting her to move faster and him to grasp her hips and drive relentlessly into her until another ferocious orgasm overtook her, causing her to clench hard around him, holding him close and tight as he lost himself in her.

Gasping, she fell forward over him, her mouth latching onto his throat, tasting the salty sweat pooling at the base. At his shiver, she smiled. Poor man was going to have to be careful about leaving that top button unfastened for a few days. With a final kiss to his neck, she slid off him, immediately curling against his side.

"So…" she drawled. "Is that a yes?"

Breathless, still, he laughed. "You _are_ insane."

Slowly, she shook her head, still lightheaded, but feeling so, so right.

"No, Carlton. Not insane." She rested her hand on his chest, just over his heart. "Just very, very sure."

* * *

_**Three months later…**_

"The neighbors are going to think I've eloped or something," she murmured against his throat, then laughed.

"Well, in this case, the neighbors would be right," he replied, shifting so she could insert the key into the lock.

"Yeah." She peered over his shoulder at her left hand and the new diamond band adorning the fourth finger. "Wonder what they're going to say in about six months or so?"

With a possessive grin, he kicked the door closed, turning again so she could lock it and set the security code. As soon as the telltale beeps sounded, he took up off the stairs, not pausing until he reached their bedroom. Gently setting her on the bed, he rested his hand over her abdomen. "Not that it's any of their damned business, but since they're probably going to talk anyway, they're going to say the only thing they possibly could say."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Shucking his suit jacket and shoes, he stretched out beside her, propped on an elbow, blue eyes mellow and full of love—and hope. "They're going to say what an adorable baby—" His grin broadened with the humor that was as much a part of their private life as his irascibility remained part of his public persona. "That is, of course, provided he or she gets your ears and not mine."

She huffed out an impatient sigh. Of all the things for the man to be paranoid about, _this_ seemed to be the one thing he'd fixated on. Never mind it didn't matter and she knew deep down, it really didn't to him, either. "Now who's being insane?"

"Not insane, Karen—pragmatic."

At least she had six months to settle him down about this non-issue and the process would at least be enjoyable. Reaching up, she undid his tie, using the loose ends to pull him close. "Shut up and love me," she whispered against his mouth.

She felt his smile and sigh as he gathered her close.

"Always."


End file.
